


The Earth Pushed Back

by starborncas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Military, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starborncas/pseuds/starborncas
Summary: Dean and Cas meet in the seaside town of Newport. It’s 1981, and Cas is still in the town where he grew up, trying to find his way after being cast aside by his family. As they grow closer, Dean is forced to deal with the constraints of military service, and an unexpected horror from Cas’s past resurfaces. Both Dean and Cas find themselves in danger, but running is not the answer when the only choice is to run from what’s most important.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wow...my first DCBB. I'm shedding a little tear :') 
> 
> I had the idea for this fic about two years ago, and here we are. Thanks a bajillion to Ally (starborndean) for helping me get this idea in the first place and talking with me about it!! My fandom soul twin--I'm love her. 
> 
> And a HUGE thank you and shout out to the artist for this fic routeguano!! Check her out on tumblr!!!!
> 
> P.S. I did do research for this fic--but that being said, I also made a lot of stuff up. Just don't look too deeply and just let it happen. 
> 
> I feel like this fic could have been through two or three more drafts, but I have the distinct feeling I'll never be 100% happy with it no matter what. So it has to be released into the world. If you're reading, I hope you enjoy it

The Earth Pushed Back

 

— The sea doesn’t change as the earth changes; it doesn’t lie. You ask the sea, what can you promise me and it speaks the truth; it says erasure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun was just setting below the horizon and Cas was trying to hurry home. The cadets took up so much time; if he wanted to get any sleep, he needed to start on studying right away. Of course, if he had chosen to go home when most of everyone had, he might not be facing this dilemma.

There were some things that were worth the distraction.

 

Cas walked in the front door to see his mother and father stationed stiffly in the living room, almost as if they were waiting for him to arrive.

 

“Hello,” Cas said, trying not to look suspicious. He also wanted to avoid looking unaccountably guilty.

 

“Come sit with us in the living room, Castiel,” his mother said. Her voice sounded strange and a jolt of panic sped Cas’s heart rate. Cas dropped his book bag behind the sofa and sat down across from his parents.

 

“We have something we need to talk about with you, Castiel,” Cas’s father intoned. Something bad had happened. It took just a split second for it to occur to Cas what may have incurred this kind of anguish.

 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked. He was concerned, but he didn’t want to invite undue scrutiny onto himself.

 

His parents looked at each other. “We’ve been told…” Cas’s mother trailed off. She looked down at the carpet uncomfortably.

 

His father cleared his throat. “It has been brought to our attention that there were some… behaviors….unbecoming to a young man….” his father stopped, clenching his jaw.

 

“We’re sorry, Castiel. It’s an uncomfortable subject to approach.”

 

Castiel sat as still as he could, his hands resting numbly on the sofa cushion. He was determined not to let his growing panic show on his face. He tried not to think about anything at all. An image of the sea briefly flashed through his mind. It was a time travelling portal to anywhere else, as far as he was concerned.

 

“Perhaps you remember recruit camp,” his father said, sounding less uncomfortable and considerably angrier.

 

Cas’s grew warm. He knew it must be red, but he did his best to ignore it, forcibly smoothing out the tense muscles around his eyes. “I remember,” he said. He was bordering on insubordinate, but he didn’t see another choice but to be evasive.

 

His mother’s eyes were teary. “It’s not a laughing matter, Castiel.”

 

“You know what you did,” his father said, his face red, his gaze piercing. Castiel felt it like a blade.

 

“What is it that I’m said to have done?” He was going to deny it until his last breath. That’s what he promised himself.

 

“Castiel!” His mother burst out, nearly gasping. “Don’t be difficult!” His father simply glared.

 

A knock sounded on the front door and Cas’s heart almost jumped up his throat. His father got up to answer, refusing to look at Cas. When Cas heard the voice of their visitor, Cas felt as though his bones were encased in rough ice. He turned his head around slowly. Lucifer was there, standing as a figure in the living room of the house in which he grew up, staring at him with a mix of amusement and derision. Castiel felt sick with apprehension.

 

He watched Lucifer cross the living room to join the side of his family. It was strange to see him in such a different setting than where Cas had grown accustomed to seeing him, but there was nothing expected about this evening. The devil himself walked quietly across the carpeting to sit next to them on the sofa.

 

“It’s time for you to be honest with us, Castiel,” his father said.

 

Cas just stared, his lips parted. His mind raced, but he couldn’t think of anything he could possibly say. He just kept staring.

 

“You let us down, Castiel,” his father said, his voice hard. “You thought you were going to get away with this—this,” he began to bluster, unable to even finish his sentence.

 

His mother hid her face in her hands. Cas’s mouth was utterly dry. His insides felt so hard and brittle and motion might shatter him straight to dust. He wanted more than anything to evaporate from the face of the earth.

 

Lucifer was leaned back in his seat, arms casually folded, looking at him in cavalier amusement. Hatred curled in Cas’s throat. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Cas said, looking away from Lucifer to his parents. His voice sounded foreign, even to himself.

 

“Don’t deny it, Castiel,” his mother said, her voice shaky. “The evidence damns you,” her lip trembled, her eyes brimmed with tears once again. “We’re going to help you,” she said. “We’re going to get you out of this. I promise.”

 

Cas was afraid like he’d never been afraid. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

 

His parents looked at each other again, and Cas wanted to run until he couldn’t run any more. “We’re only doing what’s best for you,” his father said. The stone in his father’s voice was disgust, and it was irredeemable disappointment. It was Castiel’s worst nightmare. Cas got up. Lucifer raised an eyebrow, and his parents looked at each other, puzzled and afraid. “It’s not a choice,” his father warned.

 

“I’m not leaving,” Cas breathed, sprinting for the door. Castiel burst outside, running across the yard. It was already difficult to breathe.

 

“Castiel!”

 

He ignored the voice calling his name (his mother’s he knew, he resisted the urge to violent clap his hands over his ears), running as fast as his legs would carry him over the rocky grass, hurdling over a broken down fence.

 

“CASTIEL!” Another call came, and he gasped, feet scrabbling against the gravel on the pavement. He rounded the corner and the tips of his fingers brushed the ground as he regained his balance, picking up speed again. Adrenaline that warned of danger seared his veins.

 

Castiel’s lungs burned, and he tried sucking in a breath, but it was as though a metal vice was wrapped around his ribs. The voice that had called to him echoed around his head like threads unspooling in his mind, piling in tangles. He heard the ugly words, and among them, his name. “Castiel.” No—he tried to shove them away, concentrating on his feet pounding on the ground.

 

More calls echoed in his ears and trailed under his heels but he forced himself to ignore them. Tears flooded his vision and he blinked angrily and they spilled down the sides of his face. Every step he took sent bone-numbing vibrations through his legs.

 

He kept running and soon he couldn’t feel his legs anymore and sooner still it was dark and he flew across the patchy grass, his skin burning up hot under an icy sheen of sweat. He tripped and a cry ripped from his throat. Gravel shredded his palms, but he didn’t get up. Instead he cradled his hands against his chest and his hot skin felt scaled in the cool breeze, but it didn’t reach inside to soothe the embers scarring him from the inside out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Four months later_

 

Charlie dusted her hands on her pants. “We got this place cleared out in record time!”

 

Cas looked around. It was true that all the scattered books and papers had been sorted through, but dust still swirled in the air and covered almost everything. He wiped a hand across his forehead. “If you call two weeks record time.”

 

Charlie pointed at him. “Watch it. It’s record time.” She looked around, putting her hands on her hips. “Got some cleaning to do, I’ll admit.”

 

Cas went to the kitchen and brought back glasses of water. “The clutter is gone though. It’ll make it a lot easier.”

 

“Yeah,” Charlie sat sadly down on the arm of the sofa.

 

“Are you going to keep all of this stuff here?”  


Charlie narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

 

Cas swallowed. “I just didn’t know if you’d sell anything…” Charlie raised her eyebrows. “Or maybe store some things.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

 

Charlie shrugged after a long minute, her movements perhaps a little more stiff than before. “I’ll probably store some things, her clothes, and the photo albums…” she trailed off, looking around. “I guess I didn’t realize there was so much here. And it’s all mine to deal with now.”

 

Cas nodded. “Well…I’m always here to help you with anything you need.”

 

“Thanks Cas,” she said. “I guess I’m pretty lucky to have you.” She stared at her hands clasped in her lap.

 

“On the contrary,” he said. “I’m incredibly lucky you came back. I’m not sure what I was going to do.”

 

Charlie sighed. “Well, yeah. Now _I_ don’t know what the hell is going on.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bell rang overhead as Cas entered the diner.

 

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Charlie called in her best mock polite tone. Cas stopped short, glancing at Charlie, who was leaning on the counter talking to a woman with long brunette hair.

 

“Oh, I should probably get going anyway,” the woman said, glancing at the clock. Charlie glared daggers at Cas.

 

“Well…I hope to see you again sometime,” Charlie waved and gave an anxious half-smile.

 

“Yeah, definitely!” the woman replied, sliding past Cas and quickly exiting into the windy street.

 

As soon as she was around the corner, Charlie slumped over the counter, sighing dramatically.

 

Cas gazed at her in slight amusement for a long moment before breaking the silence. “Any luck?”

 

Charlie glared over the edge of her arms. “Can I help you with something, _sir_? Some coffee? Maybe some pie?” Charlie’s voice dripped with saccharine sarcasm.

 

Cas shook out the newspaper he’d carried in under his arm. “I wouldn’t mind some coffee.” Charlie rolled her eyes and disappeared into the back.

 

Cas had barely turned to the crime blotter when Charlie came bustling back, setting a glass of water on the counter in front of Cas.

 

“So what are you up to this weekend?” she asked.

 

Cas peered over the paper. “I asked for coffee.”

 

“Well we can’t always get what we want.” Cas took a long pause before he finally decided to just cut his losses and fold up the paper.

 

“I don’t have anything planned.”

 

“Cas, I love you, but you need to get out more.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes. “You’re being melodramatic. And we’ve had this conversation before. Besides,” Cas sipped his water. “I’ve been out and about enough over the last few months to last me for a while.” Charlie leaned on the counter and pouted.

 

“You know what I mean! It’s not good for you to be so isolated!” She insisted.

 

“Don’t you have something you should be doing? Something besides harassing an innocent customer?”

 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “ _Customer_ ,” Charlie mocked. Cas continued to read the paper. “Fine,” she finally said, stuffing her notebook in her apron. “But we’re not done talking.” She gave him a stern glance before once again disappearing behind the kitchen door.

 

Cas sighed and drummed his fingers on the shiny countertop. He became suddenly aware of the sheer artificiality of the diner, the lights, the shiny red stools, and the checkered floors. It felt a little like an entrapment.

 

Charlie came back out from the kitchen with a tray balanced on her shoulder. “Don’t leave yet!” she pointed at Cas as she whisked by. He didn’t reply. He drank his water and waited.

 

Charlie was a friend. Sometimes Cas felt as though they operated on different wavelengths, but he would do anything for Charlie. She’d already proven that she would do the same for him.

 

“Okay, got that all taken care of,” she appeared at his elbow, a little breathless. “I’m off tomorrow, and I’ll be home around 2.” She sauntered off before he could even consider an option where he could decline. She knew him too well.

 

Anxious now to leave, Cas slid off the stool and jammed the newspaper in his back pocket. He glanced around at the mostly empty diner before he left, a small bell above the door signaling his exit. A warm breeze and the sun sinking over the horizon greeted him, and he was glad for it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean leaned against the bar, feeling remarkably relaxed. He liked this town, and the more he drank, the rosier it looked. And if the guy hanging around making eyes at him was any indication, it could turn into a lucky night.

 

What had been even better was the fact that John was safely ensconced in a musty hotel room tucked away with little Sammy, and the perpetual itch at the back of Dean’s neck that told him to watch his step, and the emptiness of a mobile lifestyle were all but memories in the back of his mind, sealed safely away all with the help of some cheap whiskey.

 

Dean surreptitiously returned the man’s glance, his gaze lingering just long enough before he cleared his throat and got up to visit the bathroom.

 

He forced himself to resist the urge to look back; but the grimy swinging door hadn’t even had time to close before he was shoved back against the back wall and roughly kissed.

 

Dean’s hands gripped the tall shoulders, the tile cold against the t-shirt wrinkled behind his back. Heat flared through Dean’s stomach and flashed over his skin, and everything was hands and heated breaths.

 

Dean registered the bathroom door slamming open and his heart leaping into his throat, and suddenly finding himself wide-eyed and staring into his father’s face.

 

John’s face was red and sweaty and blustery, and before Dean could say or do anything, John yanked Dean forward and Dean almost felt an insane urge to laugh; but he knew if he opened his mouth he’d vomit.

 

The bathroom spun and Dean found himself on the floor, somehow. His lip was bleeding, and there was no sign of anyone. He stumbled out of the bathroom and down the back hallway to the cold night air.

 

The chill sobered him up a little—just enough to be able to find his way to the backseat of the Impala. Dean did his best to ignore the anxiety threatening to choke him. He didn’t know what to expect from John after the scene at the bar, but he also knew that he didn’t have a choice but to return to him, and to Sam. But not tonight. He knew his father better than that.

 

 

 

 

In the morning, Dean, grimacing against the harsh sunlight and resisting the sensation of nausea threatening to debilitate him, drove to the motel. He opened the room with his key, only to find it empty. He searched the room: for a note, a clue, anything, to indicate what had happened.

 

Starting to feel the desperation clawing at his throat, Dean questioned the hotel clerk, who indicated that John and Sam had checked out early this morning. Dean couldn’t fathom where they could have gone without a car, but upon finding Sam’s battered copy of _The Knights of the Round Table_ at the bus depot, Dean’s brain assembled all the pieces of the puzzle, just in time for his façade to fall apart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas was sitting at the table reading the paper when Charlie came stomping into the kitchen, angrily opening and shutting cupboards and running the water higher than was really necessary. Cas lowered the paper, gazing evenly at her. She stopped, an empty coffee mug in her hand.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbled, and Cas folded the paper. “You want some toast? I’m gonna make some toast,” she said with a veneer of enthusiasm. She jammed bread into the toaster and brought her coffee to sit huffily at the table.

 

“What happened?” Cas asked evenly. Charlie sighed, her eyes lowered to her cup.

 

“The fucking old woman next door felt the need to comment on our living situation again,” she tapped her foot impatiently. Cas raised an eyebrow.

 

“What did she say?”

 

“Oh the usual.” Charlie smiled wanly. “That we really ought to be married soon, basically.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “She’s _concerned_.”

 

Cas cracked a smile and Charlie whacked him with the abandoned newspaper. “Don’t laugh at my neighbor drama!” she smiled again, real this time. “It is a very angst-ridden business!” The toaster popped and Charlie got up.

 

“Ugh! This toaster always burns the damn toast!” Charlie exclaimed, hitting the side of it. Cas unfolded the paper and picked up reading where he left off.

 

“Maybe we’ll get a nice toaster at the wedding.” A piece of the burnt toast barely missed his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean walked along a dark and kind of dirty street wishing he could forget himself for a moment. Desperation and anxiety brawled in his gut, and they were fighting to the death.

He hadn’t been able to breathe right for weeks, and it didn’t help that he was still sleeping in the Impala—and it was that thought that seemed to heighten the volume of the cars driving in the distance until he had to fight the urge to jam his fingers violently into his ears until they bled.

 

His throat burned. He kept his eyes trained on the sidewalk, the pavement so cracked and heaved in places that it made walking unsteady. He’d just used some of the very last money he had on booze and now the darkness was making it hard to see.

 

He was tired of feeling lost. He picked up a bottle out of the gutter and threw it as hard as he could against the nearest brick wall. He gritted his teeth against a wave of vertigo, swaying his way right side up and shuffling to the backseat of the Impala. He was so tired. He was tired from sleeping on the unforgiving bench seat of the car that he cherished and was ironically beginning to resent. He was tired of running up against the cold wall of cruelty that seemed to be closing in around him. He was tired, and it made him angry.

 

But he let his body slump into the ground, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. It was too much to be angry _and_ sober, and Dean closed his eyes, trying to force Sam’s face to materialize behind his eyelids. He thought about praying but he snorted and rolled over instead. _In what world_ , was Dean’s last thought as he slept into uncomfortable sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas stood awkwardly in the space between the entry and the hall. He expected Charlie home at any moment and he hated the feeling of being caught between two things, the unsettled liminal feeling. He didn’t want to start something new to just have to put it down when Charlie got home. It was uncomfortable, but he only had to wait a moment longer to hear her footsteps approach the door.

 

He opened the screen to her shiny and smiling face, feeling lighter already despite himself. Charlie beamed at him. “I thought you might pretend you weren’t home.” She bounded over the threshold, leaving a scent of flowers in her wake.

 

Cas blinked. “I would never be so rude.”

 

Charlie scoffed, but apparently decided not to engage. “We got any tea?”

 

Cas nodded. Charlie put the kettle on the stove, before turning around to thread her fingers together, leaning across the counter with an attitude far too serious for her normal bubbly nature. The low sunlight slanting in the window clashed with the fluorescent lighting in the kitchen. Cas hated the in-between, when it was too dark to leave the light off, but not light enough outside to be able to see. He hated the ending of things, the indecision of it all—when it was too early to go to bed, but too late to start anything new. His discomfort returned.

 

Cas leaned on the counter, mimicking Charlie’s body language. He raised an eyebrow, patiently awaiting the news she was so clearly ready to share. “I’m selling the house,” she said.

  
Cas sat back. He, somehow, hadn’t expected that. Before he could say anything, Charlie rushed to explain. “It’s forcing me to stay here, Cas.” She seemed dangerously close to tears. “I grew up here, and I love it, but it’s suffocating. I can’t take it anymore, not when I know that there’s so much more out there.” She turned her head to look out the window. “My mom would have wanted more for me,” she said quietly.

 

He nodded and stared at his hands, clammy and kind of cold and numb along the fingertips. Some long moments passed and Cas swallowed hard. The kettle whistled and Charlie turned away to the cupboard with the mugs.

 

“When do you think you’ll leave?” Cas’s voice was very even, but Charlie’s movements slowed all the same.

 

“Just as soon as it sells, I guess,” she said softly over her shoulder. “My mom left it free and clear, and what would I need to wait around for?”

 

Cas nodded, still looking at his hands. They were beginning to take on a surreal quality. He thought moving in with Charlie was the sunrise, not the sunset.

 

Charlie offered a mug to Cas and rested her hands lightly around her own mug. “Listen,” she began gently. “I worry about you sometimes. I know you, and I know you can take care of yourself, but…” she sighed, frustrated. “I’m not trying to leave you, I promise. You could even come with me, wherever I go, if you want.” Cas huffed sardonically.

 

Charlie grimaced. “I didn’t think so.”

 

Cas looked up, and Charlie’s face was earnest. “You’re completely right.” Cas sighed. “You deserve to go and find a better life for yourself,” he said, meeting her eyes.

 

Charlie smiled sadly. “You deserve that too, you doofus.” Cas smiled gently in response. “You’ll find your way, Cas,” Charlie smiled. “You will.”

 

Cas felt his smile fade a little. He knew Charlie loved him, and he trusted her—he just didn’t believe her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean gripped the metal cord of the phone. “You’re ok though? You’re safe?”

 

“ _Yes_ , Dean. I’m _fine_.” Sam’s voice sounded too young and too fragile over the tinny phone line. Dean closed his eyes.

 

“Ok, well just make sure you send letters from the towns you stop in, ok? I gotta make sure I know where to go if I need to spring you out of jail.” Dean could almost hear Sam rolling his eyes.

 

“Yeah, like I’m the one who’d end up in jail.” Dean forced a laugh and was surprised to find that he found an unexpected vengeful pleasure in thinking of his father in jail.

 

Dean’s feeling of momentary relief froze in his veins when Sam said, in a small voice, “Dean?”

 

Dean took a long pause. “Yeah, Sammy?”

 

“What happened?” His voice was little more than a whisper, and Dean’s chest felt tight. Sam’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He knew better than to ask direct questions, but Dean also knew him well enough to know that he had never been able to fully abide by that rule.

 

“Sammy—“

 

“Don’t, Dean. Just tell me the goddamn truth.” Sam’s voice wavered, but the anger there was real. Dean thought about it for a second before he gave in.

 

“Dad caught me—“ Dean cut off, a rock of guilt lodged in his throat. Fuck. “He caught me with—with,” Jesus fuck, this was difficult. Saying the words was a physical obstacle. Dean shook his head. “At the bar. With—with another guy.” Dean smashed his eyes shut, blood thundering in his ears. He gritted his teeth and waited for the click of the phone.

 

There was a long silence. Spikes of anxiety made Dean’s pulse race until Sam finally responded. “Oh.” He didn’t sound angry or sad, or even disappointed or frustrated. The damn kid sounded almost….contemplative. Dean finally opened his eyes, leaning his head skyward and taking a breath.

 

They listened to each other breathe for what was probably minutes, but felt like years, the years of silence they’d already inhabited together.

 

“I’ll see if I can get Dad to come back and get you,” Sam finally said.

 

“No!” Dean all but yelled in a fresh panic.

 

“Why not?” Now Sam sounded angry.

 

“Trust me, Sam. It’ll just make things fifty times worse.” Sam made an unconvinced sound. “Promise me you won’t do a dumbass thing like trying to talk to Dad.”  


Sam paused for a long time, until Dean finally demanded, “Sam!” and he reluctantly agreed.

 

“But Dean….What about you? What are you gonna do?”

 

“I’m gonna live the American dream, Sammy,” Dean grinned, despite himself. “Just like I was born to do.” Sam snorted.

 

“Just don’t get yourself into too much trouble. I can’t come there and spring you out of jail.”  
  
“Come on now, that’s quitter talk.” Dean waited a minute, his smile fading with Sam’s chuckles. “I’ll be good. Don’t worry. Hell, maybe I’ll even be respectable someday.”

 

“I gotta go,” Sam said in a rush, his tone suddenly panicked. The dial tone cut off Dean’s goodbye, leaving him standing with his mouth hanging open, feeling fiercely alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel tried to close the door behind him as softly as he could, but a lamp flicked on in the living room, a shadowy figure in the corner armchair. He froze, waiting, an old almost forgotten sensation echoed in the back of his mind.

 

“Have a nice moonlight walk, Castiel?” he just blinked, ignoring the question, and turning around to take off his shoes. He relaxed, his heart climbing down out of his throat. Charlie sighed.

 

She padded up next to him, her arms crossed around her little fuzzy robe-clad body. She laid a hand on his arm. “I just worry about you, Cas.” Cas stopped again, but he didn’t look at her. He laid a hand over her fingers.

 

“Your hands are cold.” And with that, he made his way to the end of the hall, and her hand slipped away.

 

 

 

 

 

Cas laid under his sheet and the heavy blanket, thinking about the vulnerability of sleeping outdoors. He shivered, as if he might suddenly find himself out there with nowhere to go.

 

He also thought about remembering the feeling of dirt on his skin. It made him feel too aware of his own body, feeling like an extension of himself that he couldn’t control. In the middle of the night sometimes he used to go to the shore and try to quickly wash a little. If he didn’t, he would start to feel like the grime on his body was seeping into his insides, and he didn’t like the feeling. He could almost imagine it as though his hair wasn’t still wet from taking a shower before laying down to go to sleep.

 

Most of the time it was really too dark out to see much of anything. Cas would splash the water on his skin, unusually aware of the impurity of the sea water as he continued to splash in the water, shivering. He tried to wash his clothes once, but quickly learned that it was a terrible method if he was interested in staying warm through the night.

 

He was in YMCA and he was with a nice man. He was showing him the facility and the warm sound of his voice was a comfort that Cas did not allow himself to have. It was better to stay away from other people. It was less complicated that way.

 

Cas was still dirty, but he was cleaner. It was a fact of existence Cas couldn’t seem to forget. But the smell of seawater was always preferable to the bitter smell of gravel in his nostrils, creeping down his throat and scratching in the darkness. Cas felt that he might choke on his own blood, and he gripped his skin, unable to stop the burning. He breathed hard and he was running, the world tilting beneath his feet.

 

Cas was right-side up and under a hot stream of water in a bright tiled shower and he shut his eyes and let the water stream down his face. He felt hollow and hungry and he felt another person scraping next to him, another weight pressed against him, and he pressed back, electricity sparking up his spine.

 

He opened his eyes in darkness, his heart thudding, his legs tangled in the sheet, the heavy blanket he’d fallen asleep under piled on the floor. Cas stared, letting his eyes adjust. He looked at the speckled texture of the ceiling, imagining that if he looked long enough they would move into a shape that told him what to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

II

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean stared at the foam on the top of his beer, trying to remember through a mild alcoholic haze the last time he’d heard from Sam. He wondered if he’d gotten any goddamn taller. He probably needed new jeans by now.

 

A scruffy face slid into Dean’s line of vision. “You look like you’re wound a little tight there, sailor.” He winked and sat on the stool next to Dean, and Dean peered at him over the curve of his shoulder. _Sailor_. Dean scoffed.

 

A few awkward moments stretched out before the bartender walked over, hands full with heavy glasses of beer. He clunked them down next to the scruffy man, who picked one up and said, “Cheers.” Dean looked away.

 

Dean figured he’d probably better leave before it got too late, or before he racked up too many hours thinking about a little brother he had no power to help, so he tipped back his glass and drained it. He stood and was unsurprised to find his legs feeling very stiff. It made him feel older than he was.

 

“You hitting the road, pal?” the scruffy man asked. The other man had disappeared again, and Dean spotted him in the corner of the bar talking to a pretty blonde woman.

  
Dean regarded this man for a moment. “Not to seem unfriendly, there _pal_ ,” Dean narrowed his eyes, “But do I know you?”

 

The man raised his hands, placating. “Just my southern instinct for hospitality, brother. I don’t mean you any harm.” Dean narrowed his eyes.

 

The man stuck his hand out. “Benny.” Dean took his hand; his palms were huge and calloused. “Good to meet you.”

 

“Likewise.” Dean tried a half-hearted grin. The guy seemed relatively harmless, to him at least. Dean scuffed his feet for a long, awkward moment before he decided to sit down again.

  
“Well look at that. Decided to stay after all?” Benny’s eyes were startlingly bright.

 

“It ain’t like I’ve got a pretty girl waiting for me at home,” Dean joked.

 

Benny lifted his glass in a silent salute. “All I’ve got is a cold bed and a mess made by a bunch of no good drunken sailors.”

 

Dean looked at him curiously. “That’ll be me soon,” he said, tipping his beer back to drain it.

 

Benny chuckled. “Not just you, brother.”

 

Dean met the bartender’s eyes and the bartender brought him another beer. “Wow, this is the best service I’ve ever had at a bar,” he commented.

 

“It damn well better be,” Benny said. “If owning a shit hole like this don’t have an influence over how fast I can get a beer, then this here would be a pointless venture.”  


“Owner?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

 

Benny grinned and shook his head. “You sure are slow on the uptake, Dean.”

 

Dean scoffed. “You’re slower than that even. I bet.”

 

“Wow…and a sharp wit, to boot.” Dean chose to ignore that, taking a drink from his beer.

 

They talked and drank beers and laughed and Dean felt himself relaxing, and feeling just a little corner of his cold loneliness thawing away. Patrons became fewer inside the bar at the night went on. The noise level evened out, along with Dean’s feeling of suspicion and paranoia that had hung around his neck ever since Dad and Sam had left, but that he hadn’t known were there until they were gone.

 

“So Dean,” Benny said, pulling him out of his brief reverie. “What brought you here?”

 

Dean chuckled. “Come on man, really? Your conversational skills are terrible.”

 

Benny shook his head. “No they ain’t.”

 

Dean shook his head and stared at the rim of his glass, his lingering guilt still a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach. “I had to do something with my life, man. Especially after I got kicked out at home.”

 

“Why’d you get kicked out?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I just grew up, man, I don’t know. Got too old and I liked to push my boundaries with my old man, and he eventually got fed up with it.”

 

“The circle of life, man,” Benny said.

  
Dean barked out a laugh. “Yeah man, I guess so.”

 

“I hate to make it seem like I’m giving you the boot, but Sparky over looks like he’s about to set my bar on fire unless I let him get home.”

 

“Yeah man, of course. I should get back anyway.” Dean stood, swaying on his feet.

 

“You good to get home?”

 

“Yeah man. I’m good.” Dean’s words felt thick on his tongue, but he’d been in far worse shape, and he knew he wasn’t in any real danger.

 

“You sure?” Benny’s voice sounded a little scratchy and he rested his hand on Dean’ shoulder. Dean blinked heavily.

 

“Yes, I’m,” Dean paused to take a deep breath. “I’m just kinda tired.”

 

Benny’s hand slipped off of Dean’ shoulder.

 

“I got a good couch, just crash here and make it out later. It’s a cold, dark night out there.”

 

They climbed the stairs and Dean tried not to focus on how fast the stairs seemed to move under his feet. Benny pushed Dean towards the couch and pointed out a blanket and Dean wanted to brush his fingers against his skin, wished for the weight of his body against his.

 

Instead, he clenched his fist and flung himself on the couch, hot shame to accompany his guilt buzzing in his stomach. Benny shut off the light and said, “G’night,” and Dean buried his face in the couch cushion in a half-hearted attempt to smother himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charlie gripped Cas’s arms and Cas was surprised by the strength of her hands. They were so small.

  
Cas sat up in bed, disoriented. He was sure his hair was askew, and his eyes were blurry. Faint moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a white glow over the room. Charlie pressed her face into Cas’s chest and he could feel her tears soaking the fabric. He’d never felt more helpless.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Charlie just sobbed harder. “She’s gone,” she kept saying. Cas rubbed her back and swallowed hard against his tightening throat. “It’s not fair,” Charlie whimpered.  
  
“I know,” Cas murmured. His eyelids and his heart felt heavy, and he felt powerless to change it.

 

“And _you_ ,” Charlie said. Cas blinked, surprised at her change in tone. “I can’t believe you were on the street when I got back, Castiel.” He was unsettled by the pure panic in her eyes. “I haven’t forgotten about that. I still _dream_ about that, Cas! I can’t believe you were homeless, Cas. You should have found a way to tell me.”

 

Shame burrowed in Cas’s stomach as he struggled to form words. Charlie sobbed. “I’m sorry, Cas.” She got up and padded out into the hallway and back into her bedroom. Cas let her go without protest. Cool air wafted through the open windows, and Cas shivered. Everything seemed so surreal—nothing had felt real for a long time. Cas felt like he was noticing everything in high definition, dust motes in the air, water molecules slipping on his skin, shifts along the fault lines as if they were tied to his equilibrium. Cas laid in bed, straining his ears to listen for Charlie, but all he could hear was the sound of crickets chirping. The house felt frigid and fragile. Cas fell asleep.

 

Cas woke up earlier than he would have naturally, the morning sunlight barely lighting his room. Eventually he got up, wandering to the living room, examining the piles of papers and books and just junk that was piled in disorder around the room. From the open kitchen window, he could hear rustling in the back yard. Cas turned his attention away from that. Charlie needed a little space. Cas turned his head; the bookshelf was incredibly dusty, and he stopped to stare for a long time at a photo of a kind-faced woman holding a young Charlie laughing with glee. The light grew steadily lighter orange, and Cas reached up to straighten the frame, slightly disturbing the dust. Cas decided to go check on that rustling.

 

He went out the back porch and glanced around the perimeter of the fence and saw plaid peeking out from behind the enormous tree in the corner. He walked over and sat silently beside her.

 

“I don’t know what to do, Cas.” Her voice was thick again and Cas looked over at her. Her nose was the only thing visible past her hair falling in front of her face. Cas rested a hand on her arm. She looked at him, her eyes rimmed in red.

 

“I’ll help you.”

 

Charlie attempted a smile. “Well,” she finally said. “At least you have somewhere to live now. At least that was something I could fix.” Charlie tried to smile, and grimaced instead. Cas tucked her head under his chin, and closed his eyes, circling his thumb on her shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean missed Sam. Hell, he even missed Benny at this point.

 

Dean had tried not to make a habit of hanging out at Benny’s bar, but so far Benny was the only friend he’d made in town, and the dive-hole atmosphere made him feel more at home than he’d had for a long time.

 

Now, of course, he couldn’t even go back there. The Navy wasn’t difficult, not any worse than anything he’d ever had with John. He had that to stave off the bitterness and shame, at least.

 

So, in his sleeping hours, Dean told himself not to think of the outside world, until he fell asleep to images of Sam’s face and his father’s anger only to awake what felt like seconds later. Moving around so much right after waking up made him almost nauseated, and the other men moving around him seemed too sharp in the harsh light so early in the morning.

 

He’d had his hair cut (just like John had always cut it) and he made his bed (he was really good at it already, from John) and he did the same exercises that John had always run him and Sam through (though of course the Navy demanded more of him in that way).

 

He liked the way that he looked like everyone else there and that if he was getting yelled at, then at least he was one of the many. He liked the relative anonymity, that there was nothing different or particularly special about him. If someone was getting punished, they didn’t just look to him to carry the brunt of the burden. Dean refused to examine the irony of freedom within the Navy’s constraints, just as he refused to acknowledge that corner of his mind that incessantly whispered his failures into his conscience like a constant drum beat of guilt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas was dreaming again. He knew it because he didn’t like much to dwell on the past and lately that’s all he’d been dreaming, as if he was stranded in the expanse of his own mind.

 

Norman laced his fingers with Cas’s and Cas smiled, a little sad. “Where do you think you’ll go?”

 

Norman shrugged. “Wherever life wants to take me, I guess.” Cas was finding it hard to look him in the face. The memory voice was nonexistent in sound—Cas must have forgotten what his voice used to sound like.

 

“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.” Cas looked. “I’ll never forget you.” Cas scratched the back of his head, fighting a smile.

 

“Good luck,” he said, finally meeting his eyes. He stared at Norman, wondering if he could feel the strength of his sincerity.

 

“You too, Cas.” Norman hefted his bag over his shoulder and left, taking a final glance over his shoulder before he turned the corner.

  
Cas stood in the empty room for a few seconds, looking around before sighing and deciding to finally leave.

 

He walked by the front desk and Chuck leaning against the counter.  


“I hope you don’t stop coming around now just because Norman’s moved on,” he called out.

 

Cas stopped, returning to the desk. “What?”

 

“I’m just saying,” Chuck shrugged. “We’ve gotten used to seeing you around.”

 

Cas paused, unsure of what to say. “Well…thank you, Chuck.”

 

“And besides,” Chuck raised his eyebrows. “I heard there are a bunch of new sailors in town. New shipment.”

 

Cas snorted. “Thanks for the tip. Goodbye, Chuck,” he said before he walked out of the front doors and into sunlight so bright it forced him to wake up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean had never been to Newport before, but so far it was way better than where he’d been.

 

Not that everything had always been bad forever. But there was something about this town, about the sea air and the rocky cliffs, the feeling of a new beginning and a new chance to be what he always wished he could.

 

With training over, he’d hadn’t had much of a choice in where he’d been placed, but he didn’t have any ties to anywhere specific anyway. He had been able to tell Sam the towns he was moving through and it was enough to get the occasional postcard from different places around the country, proof that Sam was surviving life on his own with their father.

 

He dropped his cloth bag on his cot and looked around. No one else was in there but there were two other beds. Someone would have to show up eventually. He was eager to mingle with some of the local wildlife. Maybe he was ready to test some boundaries. It felt precarious enough that Dean didn’t want to think about it. It probably wasn’t something he would mention to Sam when he eventually bothered to call.

 

He wished he had a photo or something to put in his bible. He pulled it out, looking at the cover. He scoffed at it. It had been given to him and he kept it to have somewhere to put papers and to keep notes in the back cover. Now though, he kind of wished he could dump it, or that he had dumped it on his way here but of course, there was never a good time to publicly ditch a bible in a garbage can somewhere. Dean sat on the edge of the bed and stared at it in his hand. He stuck it under the corner of his mattress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas stood at the window in the kitchen, watching the bare branches of the trees sway in the light of the moon.

 

“Cas?” Charlie whispered from the doorway. He’d heard her feet padding on the floor.

 

He turned his head, acknowledging her call. “What are you doing up?”

 

Cas sighed. “I just can’t sleep,” he murmured.

  
Charlie crept up next to him, her arms crossed. “Me neither,” she whispered.

 

Cas looked at Charlie out of the side of his eye. “Does leaving make you sad?”  


Charlie grimaced, but shrugged. “It’s sad,” she admitted.

 

“Then why?”

 

“Because staying is worse,” she said, her eyes glancing at him sharply. Cas just nodded.

 

“What’s eating you lately, Cas?”

 

“Just thinking,” Cas said.

 

“About?” Charlie pressed.

 

“About relationships ending. About leaving old places for new ones. About what I want to do, and how I could even figure out what that could be.”

  
“Tell me more about Norman,” she said. “Why did he leave, really?”

  
“He didn’t say much about it,” Cas said. “I really think he just got tired of it here and decided to leave. It sounded like he moved around a lot.”

 

Charlie’s eyebrows were almost invisible under her fringe of bangs. “And you just watched him leave? Just like that?”  


Cas shrugged. He wasn’t heartbroken. There were times when he’d forgotten that he’d left and suddenly wished he hadn’t, at least not yet. But when he thought about the concept of leaving, he recognized the urge.

 

“It was time for him to move on, Charlie.”

 

Charlie nodded slowly. “Are you ok though?”  


“Yes,” Cas answered, suppressing a sigh. “I learned a lot from him, I think.” Cas gripped his elbow, running a finger over the rough skin. “I feel like a different person than I was a year ago. Two years ago.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to understand how I’ve changed.”

 

“You never have to face them again, Castiel.” She almost never used his full name like that.

 

“I wish I didn’t want to return, Charlie.” He closed his eyes. He was afraid the feeling would overwhelm him, and then he didn’t know what he would do. He’d come so far already from that night.

 

“What do you mean?” Charlie’s voice was cautious.

 

“I mean,” Cas began, his voice growing a little rougher. “I went back there. After I’d run away, I went back. And they were just...gone.” His shoulders slumped. “A few weeks later there was a new family in the house.”

 

Charlie reached over then to rest her palm on Cas’s shoulder. “Fuck ‘em,” she said with such an uncharacteristically grim tone that Cas couldn’t help but guffaw, the mist that had welled in his eyes becoming tears of laughter.

 

Cas looked at Charlie. “You’ll do good out there.”

 

“Yeah.” It was Charlie’s turn to cross her arms.

 

“I mean it,” Cas said. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. And you’re the kindest.”

  
Charlie shoved Cas gently with her shoulder. “Shut up, you giant sap.”  


They leaned against the counter in silence. The sky lightened and Cas’s eyes began to feel heavy. Charlie went back to bed and Cas went to the sofa, angling himself away from where he knew the sun would slant in through the window.

 

 

 

 

 

 

If Dean had to guess, he’d have guessed that things were going all right for him. What a nice change of pace. He wondered when it would all come crashing down.

 

But in the meantime, he could at least fall back on what he’d always felt were his natural talents—doing what he was told and having a riot outside of an ever-present watchful eye.

 

He was nervous for the first time since basic training, though. He’d been called up to meet with Lucifer, (and what a name) and as far as he knew, he was the only one. He’d shown the note to Kevin one night. “You get anything like this?”

 

Kevin’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “No way,” he said breathlessly, apparently anxious at the mere thought.

 

Dean had asked Victor, too, trying to be casual about it. “I just wanna see how routine it’s gonna be, you know? Like what can I expect to even come out of this?”

 

Victor raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think there’s much routine about this one, Winchester.” Dean’s heart sunk but he kept his demeanor cheerful.

 

“I bet I’m getting promoted,” Dean said with a wry smile. Victor laughed and slapped him on the back.

 

“That’s the spirit.”

 

Dean left and walked briskly down the cinderblock halls. He felt a little chill that seemed to emanate from the structure.

 

Lucifer had sent for Dean for some unnamed reason, and the more Dean walked through the twisting halls, the worse he felt about it. The knots in Dean’s stomach told him that whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t good news.

 

Dean’s attention shrouded over the formality of the office, operating automatically, his training prompting him to salute and say the right things and stand up straight. All of the tiny things he’s learned how to do. It seemed exhausting if Dean stopped long enough to think about it.

 

Dean was snapped back to the moment when Lucifer looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. Dean felt his muscles tense, and he stood waiting.

 

“Winchester. I’m glad you’re here.” Dean didn’t know how it was possible for him to sound so salacious, but it made Dean’s skin crawl.  


Dean nodded curtly. “Of course, sir.”  


“I’m sure you’re wondering about the purpose of this little meeting.”

 

Dean gave another short nod.

 

Lucifer waved his hand. “Oh, would you relax? You’re not being court martialed, for crying out loud.” Lucifer’s eye gleamed and Dean clasped his hands behind his back. This guy had given him the creeps from day one, and naturally he hadn’t been able to avoid him ever since.

 

Lucifer glanced out of the side of his eye. “What do you know about Directive 1332.14?”

 

What the hell? Was this something Dean was supposed to know? Dean blinked and opened his mouth to make a bullshit guess when Lucifer interrupted him, pulling a sheet of paper from a drawer in his desk.

 

“January 16, 1981,” he looked up at Dean over the edge of the paper with a mocking smirk. “Homosexual conduct is grounds for separation from the Military Services under the terms set forth in subparagraph 8.a.(2) of this enclosure.” Lucifer raised his eyebrows. “This is some interesting reading here.” He stared at Dean. Dean didn’t move a muscle.

 

He continued to read: “Homosexual conduct is includes engaging in, attempting to engage in, or soliciting another to engage in a homosexual act or acts, a statement by a Service member that he is a homosexual or bisexual, or words to that effect demonstrates a propensity or intent to engage in homosexual acts, or marriage or attempted marriage to a person known to be of the same biological sex, a homosexual marriage or attempted marriage.” Lucifer squinted at Dean, tilting his head. “Do you know anyone like this?”

 

Dean lifted his chin. “Not that I know of.” He waited.

 

Lucifer turned in his chair now, and Dean observed a simmering agitation behind his eyes. Dean fought the urge to clench his fists. He wasn’t sure how well he was faring with his expression.

 

“The Navy is concerned about this increasingly pervasive…issue.” Lucifer waved his hand, and Dean struggled to maintain a neutral expression, his heart picking up pace. Lucifer stood, resting heavily on the desk. “I’ve had to deal with unfortunate situations in the past…” He shook his head. “It’s poisoning the youth.” He looked up at Dean, his gaze sharp. “It’s in the best interests of your country and your _Navy_ that you report any untoward behavior. Is that clear?”

 

Dean pried open his dry mouth. “What does that entail?” He regretted asking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Dean didn’t think Lucifer would know anything about him, but his mind raced anyway, racking his brain for missteps he may have made, places where he should have kept out a better eye.

 

“It’s a wretched position for anyone to be in,” Lucifer studied Dean’s reaction. “Your job, in this matter at least, is to simply remain vigilant.” He shrugged. “And if anything comes up, you know who to tell.” Lucifer narrowed his eyes menacingly. Disgust and shame rose in Dean’s throat.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Dean said, truly struggling with his instinct to kick in a healthy dose of sarcasm.

 

“You’re dismissed,” Lucifer waved his hand again, turning to sit at his desk once again.

 

Dean nodded and rounded the corner out of his office, only to find that his jaw seemed permanently clenched shut.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas watched his own arm reaching to replace books on shelves, almost as if he were a phantom. He tried to focus on the solid reality of it, but the images of his dreams flashed before his eyes instead. Today, it was too quiet for him at the library. He looked around; no one was even here. The summer weather was keeping everyone outdoors, noses into their own adventures instead of those of books.

 

He wished he could go home.

 

He knew as soon as he returned to Charlie’s mother’s home though, he’d immediately want to leave. And besides, he needed the money this job provided.

 

Once the books were shelved, he returned to the circulation desk to dig around for some aspirin, or something to clear some of the painful fog in his skull.

 

The distinctive _flop_ of books on the counter interrupted his search. Cas rose from behind the counter. Apparently there had been someone here. The man was in all white, an impressive Naval uniform demarcating him as one of those mysterious higher ranks.

 

“Morning,” the man greeted. Cas slowly handled his books, not needing to check his library card. He knew this man. He would always know his hateful face.

 

“Did you find everything you needed?” Cas asked slowly.

 

Lucas watched him, a hidden mischief revealing itself. “I think I found everything I was searching for.” How could such a phrase sound so threatening?

 

A crooked shiver ran up Cas’s spine, and he repressed a creeping feeling of disgust. The man was rancid and he wished he would just leave.

 

The man collected his books and nodded at him. Cas walked farther back into the library to watch him, to make sure he left directly.

 

The head librarian appeared around a shelf of books. “Castiel! I’ve been looking for you.”

 

Cas turned to reply, his stomach still in knots. Marv stopped, surprised. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”  


Cas blinked, forcing himself to rejoin the present. “I’m fine.” Even his own voice didn’t sound right.

 

Marv sighed in exaggerated relief. “Thank God, I’m glad you said that,” he said. “The children’s nook needs entirely reorganized.” Marv droned on and on animatedly and Cas faded in and out of attention, residual anxiety preventing his eyes from focusing.

 

 

 

 

 

It would have been a silly way to die, come to think of it, and maybe even a little ironic. The bitter thought made Dean’s mouth twist in a sour grin. It had been careless, too. It wasn’t as though Dean didn’t know how to take care of himself. But Dean was feeling distracted and angry and he wasn’t really paying as close enough attention to the traffic. Not that he’d ever admit such a thing. Besides, that car had also been driving very erratically.

 

Dean had been thinking about Sam, his hands in his pockets when he stepped off the curb, and at first he thought a rude stranger was shoving into him, but as he opened his mouth to protest he found himself colliding with the ground, his head barely missing the chance to smash against the pavement.

 

In all the movement, a gruff voice said in his ear, “Are you hurt?”

 

Dean blinked and turned his head, looking at the black skid marks on the street, and then to a car fishtailing around the corner, and finally to the tired looking face of the stranger staring at him, waiting for an answer.

 

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but apparently couldn’t find the words. The man that had pushed him out of the way squinted his eyes, examining Dean’s person for damage.

 

“Yeah, man, I’m good,” Dean said, sounding uncertain even to his own ears. The man helped him to his feet. Dean actually looked at him that time, at his tattered jeans and drab sweater and his haggard blue eyes.

 

“Are you sure?” He asked. “Did you hit your head?”

 

That snapped Dean back to himself. “My head is fine, come on. Give a guy a minute to catch his breath.” The man stepped back obligingly. Dean rubbed the back of his head, and he guessed it was a little sore. Nothing he couldn’t ignore.

 

The man was scuffling his feet, presumably waiting to make sure Dean was going to make it. “Hey,” Dean said. “I think after an act of heroism like that I owe you a beer.”

 

“Oh, it was nothing,” The man replied, averting his eyes.

 

“Come on,” Dean said. “Humor me.” The man hesitantly agreed, falling into step next to Dean.

 

“So what’s your name? I should probably know the name of the guy who kept me from getting smuckered on the pavement.”

 

“It’s Cas.” Dean thought he’d been tired lately, but this guy looked like he’d been wrung out. He took them to his favorite place (so far); he already knew the bartender, and it was nearby.

 

Dean sat at a stool at the bar and the man sat down at the bar a few stools down from Dean. Donny glanced at Dean and slid a bottle across the bar towards the man. He looked up, confused.

 

Donny gave him a small smile and said, “On the house.”

 

“Thank you,” the man’s voice was deeper than Dean had first expected. Dean took a second to notice that he was a handsome man, with his sharp looking jaw and sprinkle of stubble. He looked somewhat proper, though, with a long-sleeved shirt and a _sweater vest_ of all things. Disregarding the jeans, of course. Not that Dean was really looking.

 

“Hey, Donny,” Dean said. “Can I get one of those?”  


Donny rolled his eyes and turned to the cooler. “I’ll just add it to your running tab,” he said.  
  
Dean made a sound of protest, and Donny pointed at him and glared. “You ain’t the one who looked like he’d been an old boot pulled in by the tide.” Cas, as if hearing his name, looked up. Dean couldn’t believe it.

 

“I’m the one who almost just got run over like a goddamn dog!”

  
“Lying doesn’t suit you, Dean.” Donny walked away, and Dean scoffed.

 

He turned to Cas, “He has a point. You look like hell.”  


“Thank you.” Cas replied. Dean was taken aback by the seriousness of his tone. As if in response to all the commentary on his appearance, Cas tipped back and drained his beer.

 

“Rough day?”

 

“An understatement, I’m afraid.”

 

So Dean badgered Donny for more drinks, ordering a few rounds of something a little stronger, and eventually learning his name.  
  
“So Cas,” Dean began, feeling just the right amount of lightness in his head. “What’s got you so bothered?”

 

Cas made a noncommittal noise. “Stress, I guess. Lack of sleep.”

 

“It’s not really taking much of a toll on your ability to save my dumb ass, at least.” Cas smiled at that, leaning heavily on the bar.

 

“Where did you come from, Dean?” Cas asked suddenly, the alcohol softening the sharpness of his speech.

Cas. What a name. It sounded almost like a woman’s name.

 

“Man, I just showed up here one day and just haven’t left yet,” Dean finally answered. Cas peeked at him out of the corner of his eye, sizing him up.

 

“That uniform tells another tale,” Cas said seriously.

 

Dean choked on his beer, laughing. He wasn’t sure Cas could reasonably be intimidating; he looked so tired and gentle, especially with those dark circles under his eyes. In another world, he might be a little afraid of Cas and the barely reined energy behind his gaze.

 

It got late and eventually Donny shuffled them outside into the cool air, grumbling about wanting to get even a few winks that night and they laughed unsteadily under the streetlamp outside the bar.

 

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Dean was a little breathless from laughing. Dean’s arm, as if automated, reached up to brush Cas’s arm, wanting to bring him with him. Cas looked at his arm, looking almost confused and Dean, his heart in his throat and his instincts telling him to fight and to hold on simultaneously, imagined himself pulling Cas in by the stupid formal lapels on his shirt and pressing their lips together.

 

Cas swayed on his feet and leaned a palm on Dean’s shoulder for a brief moment of support, the heat of his hand seeping through the fabric. Cas said a goodbye that Dean barely heard through the ringing in his ears. Dean wanted to call out to him, but instead he stayed quiet and let his insides turn to dust, the spot where Cas had leaned feeling cold as ice.

 

 

 

 

 

  
Dean kept thinking about Cas. Every time he saw the image of Cas’s concern, he felt a hot flash of embarrassment. He was trying to ignore it, and failing. What would have happened to Sam if Dean had gotten flattened on the pavement? He told himself that Sam would have been just fine, but the dark figure of their father lurked in the back of his mind, sending a shiver up his spine before he shoved the thought away.

 

He avoided going anywhere, telling himself that he was just too tired to want to do anything. When he finally walked into the bar, Donny said, “Man, I was starting to think you’d gone rogue and that I’d never see your sorry ass in here again.”

 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Dean growled. He stalked to the back corner of the bar and stewed in beer, ignoring Donny’s attempts at playful banter. He guessed he was thankful to Cas. He supposed he might want to see him again, out of curiosity, he told himself. He wondered about him, that strange man that appeared out of thin air, his intense stare that unsettled Dean and engrained the image of that afternoon in his mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas thought a lot about Dean for days, and he always thought about Lucifer too, ducking under the meanings behind the association. He hated Lucifer, and frequently wished he could simply scoop him out of his consciousness with his hand, or perhaps wipe him out of existence. He felt out of balance.

 

Dean threw him off too—whenever he thought about that night at the bar he felt unsteady. He didn’t know if he liked the sensation or not.

 

He thought about it at the library, and on his walk home he’d look up at the sparkling stars, imagining himself tracing the star trails, walking along them. A path preordained for them, and for him.

 

The feeling of imbalance continued. Time almost felt wrong, sometimes. He was hyper aware of his youth and naiveté, but there were days where he felt as ancient as the tide rising and falling every day. He thought about leaving home for the last time, and trying to go back, and being cast into the void of inexistence. He thought about Charlie and how she’d had about three months of her own freedom before she was dragged back to this place. He didn’t know how to live or go anywhere else, but there were times it felt like a poison to keep on existing here, and it was yet another vulnerability he couldn’t stand.

 

Cas decided to take a walk.

 

Cas edged along the shore, one of his favorite parts to visit and while it was always different in a million tiny ways, always remained fundamentally unchanged. The overwhelming brightness of the sun cresting over the waves at sunrise was categorically more releasing than a sunset. It was the light at the beginning of something new instead of a lingering taste of bitter loss or the grief heavy depths of confusion. The cyclical nature of the days was alternately comforting and maddening. He was trapped between a beginning and an end and nothing seemed to be leading anywhere.

 

He stopped just before the waves could touch the soles of his shoes. He tried not to stare at the sun descending over the horizon, but he did anyway, and it made his eyes hurt. He blinked and looked away. The air was still warm with ambient sunlight, but soon it would dissipate under the stars, and Cas would be left here alone in the dark, if he didn’t move. He didn’t move for a long time.

 

The sun was setting, actually, and instead of staying near the water, Cas walked up a narrow path that twisted up the cliffs, leading him back to town.

 

Cas dug his hands in his pocket as the last of the sunlight faded away, and sighed. He looked up at the now starry night sky, like he had so many times before; but this time he just looked. There were no answers, he decided. Not anywhere, not for him.

 

He walked and walked and finally found himself on the doorstep of the diner where Charlie worked. He peered in the window and watched her vibrantly red head scurry around for a long minute, trying to imprint the image on his eyelids before finally going inside.

 

The place was almost deserted; a guy was perched at the counter. He appeared to be alone. And there was that long-haired brunette woman from a few days ago, and there was Charlie hovering at her booth. Cas pretended not to see, suppressing a grin as he made his way to the counter.

 

Cas nearly did a double take when he realized the man sitting at the counter was Dean.

 

“Hello again,” Cas greeted. Dean startled, his face growing stony upon recognizing Cas.

 

Dean’s shoulders were remarkably stiff, but made an attempt to act natural. “Hey, stranger,” Dean said.

 

Cas sat down. “I was worried I might never see you again.”

 

Dean grinned, his eyes practically sparkling. Cas tried not to notice.

 

“Hello, Dean. How have you been?”

 

Dean shrugged. “Same old, same old. What brings you to this neck of the woods, anyways?”

 

“I come here regularly. My friend,” Cas nodded toward Charlie behind him, “Is a waitress here.”

 

“Friend, huh?”

 

“Yes. A friend,” Cas said.

  
Dean took a careful sip of his coffee. “We gotta stop meeting like this, man.”

 

Cas squinted. “Like what?”

 

“Like this,” Dean gestured before him. “When I’m in serious danger of doing something stupid enough to get myself into some real trouble.”

 

“What danger could you possibly face here?”

 

“I don’t know yet, man, but the night is young. Plenty of time to turn the tide.”

 

Cas tilted his head. “I guess it’s a good thing I keep appearing, then. For your sake, anyway.”

 

“I don’t know, man. Too many coincidences, you know? Feels a little like bad luck.”

 

Cas chuckled and caught a glimpse of Charlie standing directly in front of them behind the counter. Cas’s face felt a little warm, and he wondered how long she’d been standing there.

 

“You all good there, dude? Can I get you anything else?” She asked Dean.

 

“No, I’m good. But thanks,” Dean sipped his coffee again.

 

“And you, Cas?” Charlie asked. Her eyebrow was raised, a mischievous smile threatening to break out across her face.

 

“Uh,” Cas stammered. “Just—just some water for now, thanks Charlie.”

 

“Mm hmm.” Cas didn’t like her tone. Charlie sauntered away and Cas stared at his thumbnails.

 

“So, you from around here?” Dean asked after a long, slightly uncomfortable silence.

 

“Yes. Never quite made it anywhere else, I’m afraid.”

 

Dean brushed it off. “Everywhere is more the same than you’d think.”

  
Charlie walked back their direction around the corner, wordlessly setting Cas’s glass of water in front of him before disappearing behind the kitchen doors.

 

“So. What are you up to tonight? Anything fun?” Dean asked.

 

Cas shrugged. “I just sort of ended up here. I’m not doing anything.” Dean searched his face, and Cas just stared right back.

 

“Well, I only just met you,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “But I don’t know anything about this town.” Dean broke his gaze from Castiel’s face to look down at his coffee cup. “Would you mind showing me around a little? Some of the main things anyway?” A nervous light danced in Dean’s eyes, and he smiled a little.

 

“I think I could make some time,” Cas said after a moment. “I didn’t have any other plans for this evening.”

 

Dean’s smile widened. “Great,” Dean jerked his head, gesturing down to the door, “Let’s hit the road.” They got up and Dean stuffed some bills under his empty plate.

 

They walked outside, the bell ringing behind them. Dean started walking and Cas reached out to turn Dean in the opposite direction. “Let’s start with this way first.”

 

Cas led Dean around the small grid of streets that comprised most of the main sights, pointing out some of the large luminescent mansions. “Some of those are open for tours sometimes.”

 

“Yeah, probably gonna pass on that.” Cas watched Dean’s face show his disinterest. “I’ve been around enough that at this point, all those types of places look the same.”

 

“There’s a lot of shoreline around here too. I know some good places.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the corner of his lips turned up. “You’ll have to show me that another night, maybe.” They turned around and made their way back towards downtown, and Cas pointed out the movie theater and some bars. They slowed their walk, now meandering up and down sidewalks that they’d already seen. Cas tried to think of something interesting to show Dean.

 

They shuffled to a stop under a corner street lamp. Dean scuffed his shoe and looked around. “So how do you know that chick from the diner?”

 

“We’ve been friends since we were children,” Cas said. “She’s my family.”

 

“Any other family around?”

 

Cas shrugged. “Not really.”

 

“You ever go to that record store?” Dean pointed across the street at a darkened storefront. Cas let out a breath.

 

“I’ve been in almost every store in this town, but never that one.”

 

“Well…where do you go for music?”

 

“I don’t really listen to a lot of music, I guess. I mostly listen to old records I already have.”

 

Dean grinned. “There’s nothing like the classics.”

 

The duo wandered their way into a park. The night was a little muggy, and the moon shone through a few thin wisps of cloud. A bush rustled and Cas startled. Dean glared into the shadows, but evidently couldn’t make anything out. Cas scanned the perimeter of the fence, but it was dark and difficult to see.

 

Dean laughed and shrugged it off. “Probably some punk opossum.”

  
Cas looked over his shoulder once more before slowly replying, “Probably.” The weight of eyes, he felt, was on his back. He was just being suspicious.

 

“You’ve lived here your whole life,” Dean began, before abruptly stopping.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What was that like?”

 

Cas shrugged. “I grew up here with my mother and my sister. And sometimes my father.” Cas glanced at Dean. “My father was a Navy man too, and he was always gone. On a ship somewhere half a world away.”

 

Cas fixed his gaze on the path before them. Cas didn’t know this man, though despite his trepidation, he found himself remarkably drawn to him. Finally Dean said, “Yeah, my whole parental situation wasn’t all that great either.” At this, Cas looked up, watching Dean’s face, carefully arranged in a neutral expression. “My mother died when I was real young,” he glanced at Cas to gauge his reaction. “And my father packed up me and my brother and we didn’t stop driving for years.” Dean made a face. “Or, I guess they’re still driving. I’m just not with them anymore.”

 

Their conversation ceased and fireflies hovered, dissipating the serious air. Cas glanced at Dean out of the side of his eye, surreptitiously trying to examine his darkened profile, the outline of his wispy eyelashes, the slight bump in his nose, curving down towards his lips. His guts squirmed and he would look away to even his breathing, his mind frozen and slow, just waiting to see what he could see, and waiting to see what would happen. He felt drawn to Dean in a way that felt alien and familiar all at once, and he didn’t know why, and he didn’t understand it; Cas felt free and afraid of this freedom all at once.

 

Dean looked at him and Cas watched little lights reflect in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean tried to quiet his mind, but he found that he didn’t have a lot of space to push everything away. The walls of this bunker were too low, the cement blocks too suffocating, the breathing of his sleeping bunkmates too loud. And Cas, seemingly ever-present in the back of his mind lately, applied a different sort of pressure.

 

He wondered, now that he wasn’t backed into a corner, about the future. It was dark and he stared straight forward. What would happen to Sam while he was here? How long would he even be here? Dean gritted his teeth, resenting his blind courage headlong charging into things he didn’t have long-term solutions for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charlie and Cas sat on opposing couches, Cas with his elbows on his knees and Charlie with her legs crossed.

 

“I--,” Cas stammered. He struggled to find the words he wanted. Charlie sighed and stood, moving to sit next to Cas on the other couch. There were words that didn’t want to dislodge themselves from his throat, and he frowned internally. He stared at the coffee table miserably, and Charlie put her hand on his shoulder.

 

“It’s _me_ , Cas,” she reminded him, squeezing his shoulder. “Just say it.”

 

“I’m not even sure of what it is I’m trying to say.”

 

“Well first of all,” Charlie hesitated, biting her lip. “Are you gonna be ok?” she asked in a rush.

 

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Cas shook his head. Charlie gazed at him sadly.

 

“I’m alone too, you know.” She tried to smile.

 

“We can be alone together.” Cas looked at her, then, prematurely feeling the ache of her absence, even though she was right there, standing right next to her.

 

“I’m going to miss you,” Cas said in a low voice, averting his eyes.

 

“At least the neighbors won’t think we’re living in sin anymore.”

 

Cas huffed, tears pooled in his eyes, and he wanted to smile so badly that his cheeks started to ache. Cas wasn’t really sure what people thought about he and Charlie living in the same house, and he supposed he didn’t really care.

 

Cas felt the weight of his decision sitting on the edge of his tongue, just waiting to be spilled. “What do you think about the Navy?” he asked.

 

Charlie narrowed his eyes. “I think I remember you saying something about how you’d never be able to join it after the cadets.”

 

Cas shook his head. “You misunderstand me.” Charlie waited. He was silent for a long time. “There’s a man.”

 

Charlie waited some more before finally asking, “A Navy man?”

 

Cas nodded. “Yes.”

 

“What are you asking me, Cas?”

 

“Am I getting into something….bad, here?”

 

It was Charlie’s turn to be silent. “I don’t know,” she answered quietly.

 

“What if I did join?”

 

Charlie whipped her head around. “Say what now?”

 

“What if I joined the Navy?” Cas repeated.

 

Charlie squinted at him. “What’s the point of these hypotheticals?” Cas shrugged.

 

Charlie rolled her eyes and imitated the shrug, exaggerating it. “ _This_ is not a reason,” she shrugged dramatically again.

 

“Because I need understand this, Charlie.” Cas’s voice was perhaps a bit harder than he’d intended.

 

Charlie stared at him, clenching and unclenching her jaw. Cas watched her warily.

 

She stood up and crossed the room to stare him in the eye. “Cas,” she sighed, agitated. She returned to sit next to him.

 

“Does it provide a sense of purpose?” He stared at Charlie, willing her to understand. He dropped his train of thought. He didn’t need to understand much about the service to understand the latent danger in interacting with it. “I used to want that life. I used to want to travel and see the world and now I don’t want any of it.”

 

Charlie looked at Cas’s hands. “I don’t think that was the right path for you, Cas. And I think it was lucky that you didn’t get to find that out the hard way.” Cas could feel her eyes studying his face. He turned away.  
  
“Tell me more about this Navy man,” she prompted.

 

Cas shrugged. “It’s possible that continued contact with him could be dangerous.” Cas kept his eyes trained on the floor. “Lucifer seems to be especially interested in taunting me lately.”  


“What do you mean?” There was a hint of danger in Charlie’s tone.

 

Cas closed his eyes. “I mean,” he said, glancing up at Charlie, “that my presence might become a negative influence in his life if Lucifer finds out. I don’t carry a good reputation in the armed forces, particularly with _him_.”

 

“His choices are his own,” Charlie said.

 

Cas didn’t know what to say to that. He knew she was right. “So should I tell him?”

 

“If you feel comfortable doing that,” Charlie said. “Otherwise, you might want to just try to be discrete.”

 

Cas nodded, his thoughts spiraling in his head. He tried to be rational, but there was an anger that had been inspired by the defiance that he had always carried inside him. He was beginning to resent his place more and more by the day. There was nothing but bitterness there.

 

They sat in silence for several minutes as Cas calmed himself, the sound of their breathing expanding in the silence, until it felt as though the house itself was breathing with them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas dreamed as he always did, and his external exasperation colored even these dreams these days. His eyes burned as though he’d been staring at the sun for hours even though he’d just woken up. It was the dreams—sometimes he didn’t feel like he inhabited this plane of existence, or almost as though he fit too loosely in his body. He did his best to ignore it most of the time.

 

The fear that sat on the back of his tongue started to gag him, and throwing a glance at the mysterious sleeping form in his bed, he crept outside to ground himself in reality once again, not even taking the care to watch where he was going. He felt as though he shouldn’t leave, but he did anyway.

 

Cas turned corner after corner in the empty streets, only to eventually come face to face with Lucifer. Cas forced himself to clench his jaw and look at his ugly blond head without backing down, despite the nausea roiling in his stomach.

 

“Out early, are we Castiel?” Cas could have sworn he saw a forked tongue, and remembering his dream, ground his jaw even tighter.

  
Cas stared evenly at him. “Not so early.”  


Lucifer studied Cas with an air of amusement, and his face contorted and Cas took an involuntary step back. His back hit a brick wall and Lucifer smiled with what could only be described as evil. It was so ironically fitting that it made Cas want to gag. He willed back to stay straight, but his vertebrae felt as though they were splintering. Lucifer laughed. He sauntered away and Cas watched him leave with relief. He kept expecting him to come back, and he tried to stand, but before he could stand he found himself awake and staring at the ceiling above his bed. He sat up gingerly, staring at the beam of moonlight coming through the split in his curtains and falling across his legs. It was a bad sign, he decided, when his subconscious cruelly tried to sabotage his sense of reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean didn’t know if Cas would even be home or if he’d even want to see him, but he’d been pacing enough the last few days that Victor had yelled at him that he was going to wear a path in the floor and that if they had to inhabit a shared space then he’d better pace somewhere else.

 

So once Dean was off the hook for the day, he went outside to pace and inexplicably found himself staring at Cas’s door. He forced himself to lift his fist to the door and knock.

 

Cas opened the door and stared at him. “Uh, hey,” Dean said eloquently. He was gonna wink but didn’t hate even himself enough for that. Cas opened his mouth but took a second to respond and Dean internally cursed himself.

 

“Hello,” Cas finally responded, seeming almost confused at seeing Dean standing on his doorstep. Which was probably fair. It wasn’t as though they really knew each other well enough for Dean to just….drop by. Unless he was counting that night at the bar; but he’d thought Cas was cool about it or had forgotten it or….he didn’t know. He felt like a damned fool.

 

Dean cursed himself yet again. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”  


Cas furrowed his brow. “No, of course not.” He seemed to come back to himself, opening the screen door and turning sideways to let Dean inside. “Please, come in.”

 

Cas turned to close the door and Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, simultaneously looking at the floor and trying to force himself not to look at the floor. He shouldn’t have come. He felt so fucking awkward.

 

“Sorry for just dropping in man—,” Dean started to say before Cas cut him off.

 

“How did you know where I live?” Cas asked. Dean blinked.  
  
“I asked Charlie.” Dean shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with the suffocating silence that had descended. Cas rubbed the back of his neck. Apparently neither of them knew what to say.

 

“Would you like something to drink?” he finally asked.

 

“I actually think maybe I’ll hit the road,” Dean shuffled in the direction of the door, rubbing the back of his neck, unable to force himself to meet Cas’s gaze. Coming here had been a mistake, he thought again.

 

“I think maybe I took you by surprise, so I’m sorry about that.” Dean swallowed. “So I’ll just, uh, get out of your hair—,” but Dean cut off when he saw the look in Cas’s eyes, almost like anger. Cas swiftly walked up to Dean, standing very close and looking into his eyes for an intense, breathless moment, before dragging Dean’s face down to press his lips squarely against Dean’s. It wasn’t anger, Dean decided.

 

Dean startled, almost breaking the kiss. He rested his hands on Cas’s waist while Cas threaded his fingers through his hair. Cas made him feel like electricity inside.

 

They stopped and Dean looked at Cas. His face was kind of red, and Dean grinned. “Give a guy some warning next time, huh?”  


Cas raised an eyebrow. “I could request the same.” Dean ducked his head, trying to hide his embarrassed smile.

 

The sound of a key rattling in the lock startled the both of them, and Cas dragged Dean by the hand down the hallway and into a bedroom, shutting the door. They stared at each other, listening.

 

Dean picked out what he was pretty sure was Charlie’s voice, and she was…. _giggling_. There was really no other word for it. Cas’s eyes narrowed, moving his ear closer to the crack in the door. Dean could vaguely hear a different voice; a woman’s voice.

 

Cas jerked his head toward the window and Dean followed. Cas hefted it open and clambered out. “Shh!” Dean whispered, barely holding back a laugh. Cas was clumsier than he looked.

 

Cas glared in the window, frantically waving his hand, silently beckoning Dean outside. They walked down the sidewalk and stayed silent for about half a block before bursting into laughter.

 

“What an afternoon,” Cas remarked.

  
Dean tried to catch his breath. “Was that Charlie? And some other lady?”

 

Cas glanced at him out of the side of his eye. “Yes, I believe it was.”

 

“You know,” Dean said. “We could pull the same thing on her right now, I bet.”

 

Cas snorted. “Assuming they’re engaged in the same activity. I also usually prefer to take the high road, when possible.”

 

“Not me,” Dean said. “Sometimes the low road is the only road.”

 

Cas smiled. “Should we do something?”

 

“What, you mean until your roommate’s visitor leaves?”

 

“We don’t know what they’re doing. We could go back. It’s completely innocent.”

 

“See now, that’s not the high road, that’s just a disguise for the low road. And like you said,” Dean smirked. “It doesn’t quite have the same effect unless they’re in the same position.”

  
Cas shrugged. “I don’t care for semantics.”

 

Dean smiled despite himself. “Why don’t we grab a bite to eat? You had dinner yet?”  


“No, not yet.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas thought about Dean. Sometimes he dreamed about him too. Those were much preferable to most of the dreams he’d been having lately.

 

“Castiel.” An irritated Marv snapped Cas back to reality. He’d almost forgotten where he was. “Do you think you can manage to finish shelving these books before you float off on a dream cloud?”

 

Cas repressed the urge to roll his eyes as Marv walked away, but he tried to re-focus on the task at hand.

 

Eventually he returned to the circulation desk, the clock ticking loudly in the silence of the almost completely empty building. He drummed his fingers on the desk, waiting for something to happen…

 

Charlie appeared, seemingly out of thin air, to startle Cas. “I have some books I’d like to check out, please.” She dropped two hardcovers on the counter.

 

Cas checked the books out for her, trying to regain control of his heartbeat. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to work today.”

 

“Nope,” she replied cheerfully. “But you get to visit me at work so often, I thought I’d repay the favor.” She beamed.

 

“It’s been so slow today that I’m glad you did,” he admitted.

 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you much lately,” Charlie tilted her head, squinting her eyes at him.

 

Cas shrugged. “I’ve been around. I guess our schedules haven’t exactly lined up.”

 

“Hmm.” She didn’t sound totally convinced. “I just know that the library closes at 8…and that there are nights where you don’t get home until way later than that. And it seems like you’re never at home in the day when I’m there either…It just seems like a harsh schedule for a librarian’s assistant…” she trailed off.

 

“That’s odd because I’ve noticed almost the exact same thing in the hours you keep.” Cas wasn’t lying. Charlie was gone a lot. She blushed and dropped her eyes to the ground. He had assumed she was just planning for her move, or grocery shopping, but her flaming cheeks hinted at something else.

 

Cas gazed at her in bemusement. “I’ve been seeing someone.” She dramatically glanced around at the deserted lobby. “It’s a secret,” she whispered behind her hand, winking.  


“Cross my heart.” Cas said seriously.

  
Her embarrassment dissipated, Charlie turned her gaze back to Cas. “What about you?”  


“What about me?”  
  
“Well, I’ve been all over the place because of my active and thriving love life.” She fluttered her eyelashes ridiculously. “How’s your Navy man?”

 

Cas maintained his neutral expression. “He’s fine.”

 

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. “No interesting developments?”  


“No.”

  
“Cas!”

 

“Shh,” he whispered. “This is a library.” Her eyes practically bugged out at him and he restrained a smile.

 

“Well,” she picked up her books off the counter, pointing her nose in the air. “I’ve got my eye on you, mister.” She left the library, glancing over her shoulder two or three times on her way out.

 

Cas restrained his facial muscles from a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas found himself going to the Y more and more. He loved to swim.

  
And besides, he’d met some guys through Norman that he still wanted to be friends with, and that was the best place to see them. But it was even better to go there with Dean.

 

Dean and Cas walked in the doors with a towel draped over his shoulder and Chuck waved. “Hey, Cas.” He eyed Dean.

 

Cas waved back, and he and Dean stopped at the desk. “How are you today?”

 

Chuck shrugged. “Can’t really complain. You?” He glanced at Dean, looking a little puzzled.

 

“Not bad.” Cas smiled. “Have you met Dean, Chuck? Dean, this is Chuck. Chuck, Dean.”

  
Dean reached his hand over the counter to shake Chuck’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Chuck.”

 

“That’s Mr. Charles Shurley, to you.” Dean was taken aback. Cas tilted his head, bemused. Chuck looked between Dean and Cas, and choked out an awkward laugh. “I’m kidding!” He looked deeply pained. “But yeah! Good to meet you too.” Chuck oddly ducked his head. Cas barely noticed though, when Dean had that off-kilter grin plastered on his face.

 

“You fellas got anything fun planned for the weekend?” Chuck asked, trying to shuffle past the trainwreck that had just taken place.  


“Nothing much.” Cas leaned on the desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean shove his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I’ll come by to visit.” He looked at Dean. “We could swim, too.”  


“Please do.” Chuck slumped over on the counter. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow.”

 

Cas frowned sympathetically and nodded. He and Dean turned to go, but Chuck stopped them. “Hey, wait up a second.” Chuck jogged out from behind the desk. He rested his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “You guys interested in a party? Tomorrow night?”

 

Cas looked at Dean. “You should come.” Chuck pressed. “You know, if you’re not busy or tired from swimming. Or whatever.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, man, maybe I’ll make an appearance.”

 

Cas nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Dean and Cas made a quick stop in the locker room and Cas said with all the nonchalance he could muster, “What do you think about Chuck’s invitation?”

 

Dean frowned, and then shrugged it off. “What’s up with that guy?”  
  
“Chuck? He’s just kind of awkward.” Cas shrugged. “He’s harmless.”

 

“He’s got a weird vibe.”

 

“He’s a weird guy.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Whatever, man.”

 

As they walked to the pool room Cas sent a silent prayer for it to be empty. He hated little else more than a crowded pool.

 

They walked in and it was blessedly empty. Thank God.

 

“It’s really deserted in here,” Dean commented.

 

“Good,” Cas responded.

 

“Does it get busier when summer comes in full force?” Dean asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Cas answered truthfully.

 

“I thought you were a certified regular around here.”

 

Cas pushed toward the middle of the pool, parting the water with his hands. They didn’t have to stay in the lanes with no one else here. “Not until recently.”

 

Dean scoffed. “What did you do for fun, then?” He waded awkwardly into the water and Cas smothered a grin.

 

“Well, I always just had to work late, you know,” Cas said, a little less truthful this time. “The library doesn’t close until 8 most nights.”

 

Dean laughed, and it echoed in the cavernous ceiling. “I always knew you were a goof.” He splashed Cas. He glared at Dean and it just made Dean laugh harder.

 

“I have a very respectable profession _and_ hobby.”

  
“Spoken like a true nerd.”

 

Cas launched himself at Dean and they playfully fought and struggled against each other. Their laughs echoed in the ceiling, the sound of splashing loud in Cas’s ears.

  
Dean gave up, stopping to catch his breath. “So, a librarian, huh?” Cas could have sworn he looked just a little disbelieving.

 

“Yeah,” Cas replied, a little breathless. “Well, I’m not actually a librarian, but I do work at the library. I essentially do all of the things you’d probably expect the actual librarians to not want to do.”

 

“That’s worse.” Dean threw his head back and laughed again.

 

“You say that now,” Cas warned. “But if you ever try to get a library card, there’ll be hell to pay.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

 

Cas shook his head in mock melodrama. “You would not believe the bureaucratic hell I could dream up for you, Dean Winchester.” He narrowed his eyes, circling Dean in the water.

 

“Do I look like I care about bureaucratic roadblocks?” Dean lowered himself in the water menacingly. “I will steal those books if I have to.”

 

“Then you’ll have to go through me,” Cas lowered his voice.

 

“Maybe I’ll come by sometime. Sneak attack. Then I can see what you and the librarians are really made of.”

 

Cas stood in the water, holding his arm straight out. He flexed his hand. “Try me.”

 

 

 

 

 

That night Cas dreamt but he didn’t even dream of evil or danger or of a menacing figure haunting his footsteps for the first time in weeks.

 

He dreamed of hands that trailed down his bare skin, ghosting across his ribs, fingertips pressing insistently into the muscles of his shoulders. He dreamed that his breath quickened, a head flung his head back, an exposed neck. Lips dragging across the stubble there, leaving a warm trail of breath. Cas arching his back and gasping, his hands reaching out to grip the body closer to him, desperate to feel the heat of skin and the brush of hair. Everything was dark and vague, but rushed and needy, and dark shapes moved against Castiel and he moved back, his breath heaving in the muffling silence. His fingers found the sides of a face, and he pressed his fingers into the rough cheeks, bringing the face to his, staring into eyes that glinted and shone like stars that guide the way home.

 

Cas gasped and sat up straight in his bed, nearly toppling off the side. His heart raced, and he looked around wildly at the room, his pillow flung onto the floor and his legs tangled hopelessly in his sheets. The sudden dissipation of Castiel’s dream stopped him short, and he collapsed back against the bed, the sound of blood rushing like the ocean in his ears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Dude, you might have too many books.”

 

Cas glared at Dean. “That is patently untrue.”

 

“I’m just saying. You work in a library. Where you can get pretty much any book you want, anytime.”

 

Cas chose to ignore this insensitivity, neglecting to point out that he had actually gotten all of these books from the library.

 

“Have you found a new place yet?”

 

Cas was sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, painstakingly sorting through the drawers in his dresser and deciding what he needed to keep and what he should think about throwing out. He didn’t have much, but whatever he didn’t have to move was all the better.

 

“I have not,” Cas said. “I haven’t seen anything I like yet.” In truth, Castiel had not looked at any new places to live. He glanced through the ads in the paper one day at work. He wasn’t ready yet.

 

Dean valiantly tried to disperse Cas’s collection of paperbacks to various boxes, trying to avoid making a single box too heavy. Unfortunately, most of what Cas owned were discarded books.

 

Charlie walked in the house and slammed the door, which Cas was only vaguely aware of due to the unfortunate reality of one of his bedroom walls being shared with the wall on which the front door resided. He lifted his head to listen for her footsteps. Dean continued to shuffle items around, looking around for a marker to label the boxes.

 

Charlie joined them, still in her unfortunate uniform from the diner. She sat next to Cas, folding her legs underneath her. “You’ve got a lot more stuff than I thought, Cas.”

 

He nodded. “How’s Dorothy?”

 

Charlie smiled. “She’s good. She angers the neighbors.” The thought made her sigh, staring dreamily into empty space.  


Dorothy had a motorcycle that was a sore point of irritation for their elderly neighbor, and a thing of glee for Charlie. The more time that Dorothy spent here, the more she disapproved.

 

Cas smiled at her expression. “Is she coming to visit tonight?”  
  
Charlie’s shoulders slumped. “No, she’s got some kind of work thing to take care of out of town for the next couple days.” She nobly tried to hide her disappointment.

 

Dean abandoned his project to sit on the edge of the bed near Charlie and Cas, his bowed knees spread wide.

 

“What about you guys?” Charlie asked, trying to sound a little more upbeat. “You up to anything fun tonight?”

 

Cas and Dean looked at each other. “You still wanna go to that party?” Dean asked.

 

“Yes,” Cas said. He looked at Charlie. “Do you want to go too?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, Charlie decided that Chuck’s party probably wasn’t her scene. When Chuck opened the door wearing a pink feather boa, Dean thought she had probably been wrong.

 

“Come in, guys!” Chuck sounded excited to be hosting such a lively party, and Dean couldn’t really blame him. His house was overflowing with people, mostly men that he’d seen around at the Y when he’d been there with Cas. He and Cas weaved their way through the packs of people, stopping by a table of booze. The room was dim and a little stuffy.

 

“You want a drink?” He leaned his cheek against Cas’s, speaking into his ear. It was easier to communicate over the volume. Cas nodded, and Dean ladled a mystery beverage into plastic cups for them. They drank it and Dean was sure it was alcoholic, but it seemed relatively watery.

 

He knew better than to assume that, though.

 

Chuck walked over, waving at them. “How’s it going? Good?” Chuck had to raise his voice to be heard.

 

Cas nodded and Dean said, “Yeah man, it’s good.”

 

Chuck introduced them to a few of his friends, and Dean got progressively more intoxicated. It looked like his instinct about the mystery drink was correct, but who was he to refuse free booze? He watched Cas too, but it was reaching the point where it was harder and harder to maintain an unbiased judgment on the drunkenness of others.

 

He and Cas found themselves on what might reasonably be called a dance floor; really, it was just a space where other people were dancing.

 

Cas said in Dean’s ear, “I don’t normally dance.” He laughed a little, and Dean laughed too. Despite Cas’s lack of dancing or partying experience, they moved amongst the others around them.

 

The room swam a little, but Cas was close enough to stay in focus, and Dean hooked his thumb in one of Cas’s belt loops, pulling him closer. The music seemed like it was getting louder. He could feel Cas’s breath on his neck, see the stubble on his unshaven jaw. Dean moved his hand to Cas’s back and Cas leaned up to kiss him.

 

Despite the alcohol, a spike of adrenaline heightened Dean’s heart rate, and he leaned back to look at Cas. They danced until they weren’t anymore, and they wormed through some more groups of people.

 

Dean had a feeling he had a dopey smile on his face and he couldn’t even make himself care.

 

They worked their way down a darkened hallway, stumbling into a closet, kissing frantically and messily. Dean kissed under Cas’s jaw and Cas said, “Dean.” His voice was clear and the sound of it spiked heat in Dean’s face. He pressed his fingers into Cas’s back, their bodies pressed impossibly close. He wished they were closer.

 

Cas rutted his hips and his knee into Dean, making him gasp. “Should we go home?” Dean whispered the question in Cas’s ear. The music was still loud, muffled outside of the closet. Cas nodded; it was dark enough that Dean could barely see the outline of his features.

 

Dean kissed him again, slower this time. They snuck out of the closet and out of the back door, crossing the yards that took them the back-way to Charlie’s house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Cas woke up, his mouth was very dry. His eyes throbbed dully and he struggled to open his very scratchy eyelids. He rolled upright and immediately regretted the decision. He leaned on his knees and stared at the patch of floor beneath his feet until the world stopped spinning. He looked over his shoulder to see an endearing image of Dean still passed out, his mouth wide open, lightly snoring.

 

Cas eventually found the strength to stand, trudging his way to the kitchen.

 

“Well, well, well,” Charlie’s voice came from the dining room table. Cas leaned on the counter in the kitchen, staring witheringly at her. She was wearing her fluffy pink bathrobe, and she was holding a cup of coffee.

 

She padded her way over to Castiel, looking benevolently up at him. “Have fun at the party?” Cas just groaned in response. She patted his arm. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

She padded out of the kitchen as Dean came in. “Hey there!” Charlie greeted in a _very_ chipper voice.

 

“Morning, Charlie,” Dean said, his voice sounding remarkably croaky.

 

She turned to beam at the both of them before retreating to her bedroom.

 

Cas shuffled to the sink and turned on the water, leaning over the sink and drinking straight from the faucet.

 

“What are you, an animal?”

 

Cas waved his hand at Dean, and Dean laughed in his tired and scratchy voice.

 

Dean was leaned against the counter, and Cas realized that he was only wearing underwear and the shirt he had been wearing the night before. He rubbed his eyes grumpily. “I’m no priss, but I also wasn’t raised in a barn.”

 

“I have cups,” Cas crossed his arms. “This was more expedient.”

 

Dean chuckled and raised his palms. “Hey, it ain’t my house, I don’t make the rules.”

 

“And don’t forget it,” Cas grumped, and Dean laughed.

 

“Well,” Dean said, looking around appreciatively. “You’ve got some nice digs here, I mean…besides the communal drinking fountain.” He grinned.

 

Cas tilted his head. “You’re certainly more than welcome to partake.”

 

“Thank God.” Cas laughed as Dean leaned over the sink just as Cas had done.

 

Dean leaned his head back when he was done, his eyes closed and water running down his neck. “Primal…but effective.” He opened an eye and looked sideways at Cas. “I owe you big for this water, man.”

 

“I know how you can repay me,” Cas answered slyly.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“How about some pants?” Cas deadpanned.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Is all this too much for you to handle?” He jutted out his hip and gestured down his abdomen. Cas kept his expression neutral, slowly moving his gaze down Dean’s body. Dean straightened, his smile sliding off his face.

 

Cas forced his gaze back to Dean’s face. “No, not at all.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw went a little slack. He blinked a couple of times, trying and failing to think of something to say. Cas repressed the urge to smirk at his obvious struggle to think of a good comeback.

 

“Well, ok,” Dean shuffled backward and bumped into the counter. “Maybe I’ll see about those pants now,” Dean chuckled breathily and awkwardly backed out of the kitchen. Cas’s heart fluttered at Dean’s clumsiness. He thought it was cute.

 

Cas retreated to the bathroom to brush his teeth, scrubbing his tongue and trying not to gag. When he returned to the kitchen, Dean was rummaging through the fridge.

 

“Is this all you’ve got? Really?” Dean peered over the edge of the fridge door. Cas crossed his arms.

 

“It’s been a busy week.” Dean sighed in exaggerated exasperation.

 

“Priorities, man.” He shook his head. “You gotta have your _priorities_ in order.”

 

“Maybe I’d have more time for grocery shopping if you weren’t taking up all my time,” Cas raised an eyebrow. “How’s that for a priority?”

 

“Well,” Dean shrugged. “You got me there.” He closed the fridge. “You’ve got some hamburger in there already, but not much else.”

 

Cas nodded. “I know.”

 

“I was gonna make us some eggs but,” Dean shrugged. “No eggs.”

 

“We’ll just go to the store for some food.” Cas looked around the room for some shoes. He called out to Charlie, “Do you need anything while we’re at the store?”

 

“Get me some snacks!” Charlie yelled back.

 

They walked the couple blocks to the grocery mart a couple blocks over, Cas picking up a basket on their way inside. Dean walked confidently through the aisles while Cas held out the basket for Dean to toss things inside.

 

Cas peered in the basket. “What are you making?”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

 

Taken aback, Castiel blinked. “What?”

 

Dean grinned. “You don’t know what it is we’re making yet?” Cas looked in the basket again.

 

“I’m not particularly familiar with cooking, Dean. I know how to make things with ground beef.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, Jesus, neither am I,” Dean pointed in the basket. “We’ve got some tomatoes, the _cheese_ ,” Dean turned to the shelf, selecting a package of buns. “The hamburger buns.” He tossed them into the basket.

 

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You withheld the most important clue until last.”

 

“Nah man, the most important clue was the hamburger.” Cas rolled his eyes.

 

“Is this everything?”

 

“No, we still need Charlie’s snacks.”

 

Luckily, Cas had been living with Charlie long enough to know all of her favorite things. He dumped some trail mix and a bag of Cheetos in the basket, and hefted a 6 pack of beer under his arm.

 

“Ok, _now_ we’re ready,” Cas announced.

 

“Wait. D you got ketchup at your place?” Cas wrinkled his nose.

 

“We would never keep such a terrible thing.” Dean barked out a laugh.

 

“You are the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.” The pair walked toward the checkout stand.

 

“And you’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met,” Cas grumbled, grinning despite himself.

 

When they finally got back to the house, the sun was slanted in the windows and Castiel’s stomach was growling, his hangover blessedly gone. Now the only thing louder than Cas’s stomach was Dean professing his expertise. “My burgers are the best burgers east of the Mississippi.” He grinned proudly. Cas let his eyes roam over Dean’s face, his bright eyes and his freckled nose.

 

“I thought you said you weren’t much of a culinary expert.” Cas turned to the sink to wash the vegetables.

 

“I’m not,” Dean replied, tearing open the package of meat and dumping it in a bowl. “I said I wasn’t particularly familiar with cooking.” Cas looked at him dubiously. “What? There’s a difference.”

 

Cas started cutting the tomatoes, watching Dean form the hamburgers out of the side of his eye.

 

“And what would that difference be?” Cas asked after a moment.

 

“Well,” Dean slapped the raw patties onto a plate. “I said I wasn’t overly familiar with cooking. But you don’t have to be an expert to make burgers.”

 

“You’re the one boasting about how good they are,” Cas grumbled, shoving the prepared vegetables on a plate.

 

Charlie walked in, still in her pajamas. “What’s this bickering happening in here?” She surveyed the scene, narrowing her eyes. “Where are my snacks?”

 

Cas pointed a dripping finger to a bag still sitting on the counter. “Sweet!” Charlie excitedly sat herself at the counter to observe.

 

“Alright…I’m ready to take on the grill.” Dean had the stupidest, most enthusiastic grin on his face and Cas’s stomach flopped, and he could see Charlie rolling her eyes over Dean’s shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed.

 

Cas led Dean out to the back patio where the old charcoal grill sat, and Dean seemed really happy about it even though the grill probably hadn’t been used in years.

 

“Yeah, man. That’s how we do it!” Dean said as Cas walked inside and slid the screen door shut behind him.  


“Your boy out there is a complete doofus,” Charlie said, observing Cas happily.

 

“Yeah,” Cas said, crossing his arms and observing Dean outside. “He really is.”

 

And really, Cas had never had a better burger. He may have decided right then and there that Dean was the best thing he’d ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean shut the door softly behind him but it was to no avail. Victor sat in the window, his face only dimly illuminated by moonlight.

 

“You know, Winchester,” he started, speaking slowly, “I pegged you as a reckless sort of guy, but never a complete dumbass.”

 

Dean was frozen, still standing in front of the door. He peered over at the other sleeping forms in the room; they appeared to be genuinely asleep. He looked at Victor again.

 

“You got anything to say for yourself?” Victor asked, his voice low but threatening.

 

“I don’t know what you mean, man.” Dean was good at lying, and hell, he’d had a lot of practice.

 

He watched Victor shake his head. “You think you can gallop off anywhere and everywhere at any time,” he said. “What are you gonna do when we’ve shipped out? Huh? You ain’t gonna have any friends amongst us, they’ll be here onshore while you’re out there alone.”

 

Dean stood still as a stone statue. Lying was something he could handle. He was less capable of handling direct truths.

 

“Do you think you’re my father or something, man?” Dean scoffed. “What the hell business is it of yours?”

 

“I think you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, here.”

 

“I think I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.” Dean swallowed hard, glad for the darkness. He was still in the process of disguising the panic he was sure had at least crossed his face.

 

“Listen,” Victor said, his voice less commanding now. “You can’t be acting like this. It’s attracting attention and it’s just not sustainable.” His voice had dropped to a whisper and Dean felt hot shame wash over him; he felt so stupid. “We’re out of here in a month, man.”

 

Dean stifled a panic response; how the hell was it possible that the clock was running out so quickly? He walked over to his bed, angrily kicking off his shoes. He climbed under the sheets. He listened to Victor sigh after a few long moments, finally climbing into his own bed. Dean longed to hear the sound of the ocean waves, but he couldn’t hear a damn thing through the cement walls or over the sound of the others breathing beside him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I wish I could go with you,” Dean said.

 

“I know,” Cas said, his mouth full of cereal.

 

The sunlight was weakly filtering into the decrepit kitchen curtains where they sat at the table. It was early enough to still be really quiet except for the birds in the neighbor’s huge tree. Charlie kept reminding Cas that people coming to wander through the hallway and the bathroom was not just a fun recreational activity; he still had to find somewhere to sleep that wasn’t the curb. That was Charlie’s definition, anyway.

 

Dean was getting ready to leave; he had somewhere to be, of course. There was always something to be done.

 

“I hope it’s a good one,” Cas said.

 

“As long as everything works and there are no mice, I think we can make anything work.”

 

Cas stilled at the mention of a _we_ but immediately stifled it. Dean didn’t seem to notice.

 

“At the very least it will appease Charlie.”

 

“Well, she’s right though.” Dean shrugged.

 

Cas sighed. “I know.”

 

“Well,” Dean put his hands on his knees like he always did when he was getting ready to leave. “I’ll see you later, huh?”

 

Cas stopped him with a hand on his arm, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “God you’re such a sap,” Dean laughed.

 

“You like it,” Cas said seriously.

 

Dean looked at Cas for a long moment. “Yeah, I do.” He left then, and Cas looked at the clock. He supposed he should keep his appointment.

 

Cas arrived at a non-descript gray building. He climbed four flights of stairs to get to the apartment he might one day inhabit. The cement was grimy, and the paint on the walls was thick from too many coats of paint intent on covering some immature graffiti.

 

The realtor showed him around the empty space. He looked in the closets and in the shower. The bedroom seemed dusty to him. He thought the counters in the kitchen looked drab. _Habitable_ , Cas thought.

 

He squinted and tried to imagine Charlie sitting on a sofa in the living room, laughing. He tried to imagine Dean standing in front of the stove. He sighed and told the woman he’d think about it and get back to her.

 

He emerged outside, and for the first time, he wondered what his life would be like when he was alone once again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean looked at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time, and hated himself for doing it.

 

He still had another two hours until he could leave. He was so tired; he hated night rotations, and he especially hated it when he didn’t see Cas and he started to feel itchy and reckless.

 

He was pretty sure staying awake all night messed up the mechanisms of his brain, but at least he wasn’t alone. And at least they got to walk around outside.

 

“Do you know where you might want to end up?” Kevin asked.

 

Dean took it back. It was really too bad he wasn’t alone. “No,” he sighed.

 

“Oh.” Kevin sounded a little disappointed, but Dean didn’t really know why. It sure didn’t stop him from continuing on the conversation without him.

 

“I think I’d want to be somewhere warm, you know?” Kevin’s face was practically glowing. “I want to rise through the ranks, really make a career for myself here.”

 

“Huh.” Dean really couldn’t think of anything better to say.

 

“I can’t wait to see everything. My mom hates it, but it’s just something I’ve got to do. You know?”

 

“Oh yeah.” Dean was only being a little sarcastic. Partially because he hadn’t had a mom for a really long time, and partially because there was really no way for him to engage in a conversation that included _career choices_. “Do you think you’ll stick around? In the Navy, I mean?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean answered vaguely. “We’ll see how it goes, I guess. Probably not forever.”

 

Kevin nodded sagely, and thankfully stopped talking.

 

When he and Kevin finally finished up for the night, they were outside and could see the sun coming up in the east, and Kevin said, “Wanna get some breakfast? Dean?”

 

Dean looked over at him, his mind lagging just a split second too long. “Uh, no, man, I’m pretty tired, actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think about Cas; he didn’t need to accidentally give himself away.

 

He didn’t really expect much of a reaction from Kevin, but he also didn’t expect a complete lack of reaction. He knew a lot of these men had become really tight-knit, but he couldn’t remember when he’d become the outsider.

 

“Yeah, see you, Dean.” Kevin waved without looking at Dean.

 

Dean walked to Cas’s house. It was Saturday and Cas didn’t have to work, and he hadn’t seen Cas for days. He couldn’t get the image of Victor out of his mind and he just wanted to go to sleep.

 

He knocked on the door and Charlie answered the door, her hair looking remarkably, adorably ruffled. She squinted at him, standing there in her pink fluffy robe, rubbing her eye.

 

“What the hell do you want?” Charlie asked, perhaps a little viciously.

 

“I told Cas I’d come around when I was off watch.”

 

Charlie stared at him. “I guarantee you that Cas won’t be awake for another,” she turned to look at the clock hanging in the kitchen. “At least another 4 hours.”

 

Dean shrugged. “I’m pretty tired myself,” he raised his eyebrows, entreating.

 

Charlie raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Join the club, bucko.”

 

Ok, Charlie liked being woken up just as much as Cas did, Dean noted. It was really too bad for her that she was the lighter sleeper.

 

Dean rubbed his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.” He really just wanted to crash.

 

Charlie scoffed. “You may be Han Solo, but I am _not_ Jabba. I don’t deal in debts, Winchester.”

 

Dean crossed his arms. He couldn’t believe she had the _audacity_ —“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed. “I’m a Jedi knight and you know it.”  


Charlie kicked at him. “You wish!” But she cracked a smile. “You’re a scoundrel and _you_ know it,” she muttered as she stood back to let Dean inside.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waved his hand grumpily. “I can either shut you up or shut you down.”

 

Charlie giggled. “Get on the couch, fuzzball.”

 

Dean let himself fall on the couch without an indignant protest. Charlie did not dignify the silence with a response, shuffling back down the hallway to her bedroom.

 

When Dean next awoke, it was because a beam of sunlight was shining directly onto his eyelids. He rolled up off the couch and stalked back to Cas’s bedroom. A dark haired lump was burrowed under heavy covers. Dean crawled in next to Cas and had to get pretty close to him to get any of the blankets. Blanket hogging bastard.

 

Cas rolled over and blurrily glared at Dean. “Don’t call me a bastard,” he said, his voice scratchy from sleep.

 

“Quiet down over there, I’m trying to sleep.”

 

“You’re the one destroying the tranquility.” Dean didn’t get the chance to respond, opting instead to immediately pass out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey. I’m bored.” Dean was incredibly disgruntled at the unwanted physical proximity of whoever was mockingly whispering in his sleepy ear. He opened an eye to see an even fluffier arrangement of Charlie’s hair. He glanced at Cas to see that he had affixed a pillow to the side of his head to prevent early morning ear whisperers.

 

Dean decided to adopt the same strategy. Even so, he heard Charlie all but wail, “No, get up!”

 

“I’m just trying to get a full night’s rest here, you terror,” Cas growled.

 

“That’s my point, asshole! It’s almost two o’clock.”

 

Dean’s eyes opened at the realization, removing his pillow (which, frankly, wasn’t working very well anyway). He groaned. “I’m up.”

 

Charlie squealed. “We’ll do something fun. Once we can get him up.” She glared daggers at Cas.

 

Dean considered Cas for a moment. “Seems unwise to try.”

 

“You just don’t know my methods.” Charlie stuck her tongue out and wrangled Cas (who was resisting valiantly), using her legs to restrain him. “You can give up now,” she warned, panting.

 

“Never,” Cas growled from under the blanket.

 

“Fine. You asked for it.” Charlie looked at Dean. “It’s for his own good,” she said grimly. He just watched, mildly bemused.

 

Charlie stuck her finger in her mouth and promptly stuck it right in Cas’s ear. Dean groaned. “Oh man, that’s sick.”

 

Cas tried to wriggle free but Charlie apparently had experience in this area. “I’m up,” he growled menacingly. Charlie released him, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“See, Cas? Not so bad.”

 

He kicked at her and she rolled deftly out of the way. “This isn’t a fight you can win, Castiel.”  


Dean looked at him. “Dude. I think she might be right.”

 

Cas glared at him and Dean couldn’t help but smile. His completely destroyed hair made it impossible to take him seriously.

 

“Watch your back, Charlie,” Cas said, stalking out of the room.

 

Dean looked at Charlie. She shrugged. “A painful, but necessary process.” She jumped up and left the room too.

 

He heard them scuffling in the hallway. Shaking his head, Dean too left the bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean and Cas took a walk around the edge of the cliffs one night at dusk, and Cas couldn’t stop looking at his face to see his reaction to the sun setting over the ocean horizon.

 

The orange light made him look utterly beautiful; soft and innocent, somehow. Dean caught Cas looking at him and the corners of his mouth turned up even though he was trying not to smile.

  
They sat down in the softly swaying grass and it was easy to forget that there was anything outside of this single cliff, any time past that single night.

 

“I’ve always liked to come up here to watch the sun,” Cas said. “In my opinion, sunsets are not as good as sunsets.”

 

“You just don’t like the morning,” Dean grinned.

 

Cas huffed, but didn’t disagree. “I do hate waking up.”

 

“Your hair always looks really good though.”

 

Cas slapped Dean’s arm and Dean laughed, the sound swallowed by the sound of the tide. The sunlight grew increasingly red and the warmth of the day sank with the sun. Cas swallowed hard and moved his hand to tangle his fingers with Dean’s. He could feel Dean smiling in his direction but he ignored it and watched the sun.

 

Cas loved that he could always come here and to be alone; at night, no one walked around here. He’d had his whole life to look for a place like it, and he’d hoarded it to himself. He looked over at Dean.

 

They laid back in the grass, looking at the stars that were starting to faintly appear as the night stole over the sky. Cas laid his head on Dean’s arm and looked up at his face.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that your freckles look like constellations?” Cas asked, deadpan.

 

Dean guffawed. “Only the cheesiest of the girls I ever dated in high school.”

 

Cas stretched up to kiss the tip of Dean’s nose. “It’s such a trite thing to say,” Cas rested his chin on Dean’s chest. “It only undermines my self-esteem a small amount to make the same comparison.”

 

“Tell me, Cas. Was it worth it?”

 

Cas hummed. “I would do it again,” he said, contemplative.

 

The night air cooled and seeped into Cas’s clothes and the tips of his fingers and nose. He curled against Dean, nosing gently along Dean’s collarbone and neck and Dean kissed under Cas’s ear liked he liked. Between the sound of the sea in Cas’s ears and the heady beating of his heart Cas felt like he could almost feel the earth turning.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Are you ever afraid?”  
  
“Of what?”

 

Cas sighed. “Of someone finding out.”  
  
He didn’t need to elaborate. Dean remained silent for a long time and Cas watched some thin clouds drift across the moon.

 

“Yeah, Cas, I am.” Cas couldn’t see Dean’s face, but Dean’s voice was quiet.

 

Cas lifted himself up and turned to look at Dean. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t.” Dean sighed. “I’m afraid of a lot of things. I’m afraid that Sam is going to get hurt or lost. I’m afraid that I’m gonna get the shit beat out of me. Or worse, that _you’ll_ get the shit beat out of you.” Cas watched Dean, looking at those freckles that he’d so capriciously compared to the stars.

 

“Are you afraid?”

  
Cas turned his face away, lingering in the silence. “Yes.”

 

Dean put his hand on Cas’s face, turning him back to look at him straight on. “It won’t be like this forever.” His eyes were hard and promising. Cas believed him. He had a feeling he would always believe Dean, that he would rather go to the ends of the earth than lose faith in Dean Winchester.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas stooped over his shelf of books, sighing at the eternal void of silence surrounding him. He had to check the private rooms for scattered library materials. Not that anyone had probably used the rooms, much less left things scattered about in them.

 

He stepped into a room and he stopped solid, frozen by the unexpected patron inhabiting the desk. Lucifer sat as though presiding over an office, an air of authority permeating the room. Cas almost forgot to breathe.

 

He looked up as though he’d been expecting Cas for an appointment. “Ah, hello again,” he smiled poisonously.

 

Cas straightened. “Hello,” he said stiffly, backing out of the room to leave.

 

“Castiel, was it?” Lucifer asked, forcing Cas to linger. He gazed at Cas, a finger under his lip, and a mocking, contemplative look on his face.

 

Cas had lost all semblance of patience. “You know very well that my name is Castiel.” He did not back down, staring without remorse into Lucifer’s eyes.

 

He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Well,” he said. “You’ve become saucier with age and valuable experience.” Lucifer smirked, and Cas’s stomach roiled with hatred. He lowered his head, glaring now, unwilling to check himself.

 

Cas took a long moment to move as though leaving once again, and Lucifer tutted. “Oh, Castiel.” He hung his head back, appraising him, his fingers laced in his lap. “You know that everything I did was in the best interests of you and your family,” he simpered.

 

Castiel forced himself to square himself, remembering where he was and when.

 

“You know,” Lucifer laughed, “You just keep getting yourself into these situations though!” He stood, and the hair on the back of Cas’s neck rose. Lucifer shrugged dramatically, looking properly aghast. “You know, you keep getting mixed up with me. Getting _involved_ ,” Lucifer’s voice grew more vicious the longer he kept talking, the corrupt veneer of sweetness dissolving. “Getting tangled.” He sighed. Cas forced himself not to look away. Lucifer shook his head. “Look at this tangled web we weave, Castiel.”

 

Castiel was wordless, his jaw all but cemented closed. Lucifer looked at him with a mock sympathy.

 

“Stay away from the new shipment, Castiel. They’ll be gone soon enough, but I don’t want any more trouble,” he patted Cas’s shoulder and it took more than he had to give not to physically recoil. “It’ll be worse than it was the last time this happened.” His voice was soft and sweet and Cas wanted to throw up.

 

Lucifer breezed by and Cas just stood there in the doorway, his legs becoming numb. His mind, as though determined to plunge Cas back into the past, made his legs icy and numb as though he’d been running desperately through a night that would only become colder and colder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

III  

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were times when Dean thought very hard to himself about whether or not he’d royally screwed up his brother. A lot of the time he felt like he was really messed up, and what hope did the kid have if he was being brought up by a really messed up guy?

 

Dean wondered about it a lot. He wondered how he could ever know for sure. He thought about protecting his brother from other kids sometimes too. Sometimes they’d move schools really suddenly and sometimes it was hard for Sam to adjust.

 

Sam sniffled and Dean felt a flare of anger. He’d kill anyone who laid a hand on his brother.

 

“Suck it up, Sammy. It’s not that bad.” Sam glared at Dean through watery eyes and Dean almost felt bad for a second. Dean thought the mark on Sam’s face might scrape, but the bruise wouldn’t be too bad. Probably no scar.

 

“Why do they do it, Dean?” Sam asked. “Why is it everywhere we go, everyone thinks I’m a weirdo?”

 

“It’s because you’re an alien, Sam. They can tell.”

 

“Stop it, Dean!”

 

Dean relented. “Look, Sam. You’ve gotta hide your differences. Kids are the worst. You just keep your head down and mind your own business.”

 

“I hate being alone,” Sam said in a small voice.

 

“You’re not alone, Sam. You have dad, and you have me.”

 

“I hate dad,” Sam snarled.

 

“No you don’t,” Dean said. “You owe dad your life.”

  
Sam glared at Dean again. “I don’t owe him anything.” Sam’s lip trembled, trying hard to prevent tears from spilling out of his eyes and failing miserably.

 

Dean sighed. “Sammy, listen to me.”

 

He stared ahead of him, not looking at Dean. Dean talked anyway. “As long as I’m around, you’ll never be alone. Ok?” Sam remained silent, stubbornly staring forward. He smacked Sam. “Hey. I’m serious.”

 

Sam threw a sideways glance at Dean, less angrily than before, tears streaked down his baby faced cheeks. Dean swallowed. “You can’t count on those snot-nosed kids, Sam. You count on me.” He jabbed a finger on his chest. “You will always come first. And I’ll kick any kid’s ass that tries to mess with my little brother,” he added.  
  
Sam smiled then, roughly wiping his tears and snot. “You done being a girl yet?” Dean asked and Sam punched him in the arm, laughing.

 

Dean felt more tired than he had in a long time, but at least Sam had stopped crying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas felt sick with hatred. He walked up to the house, feeling disconnected from his body. He vaguely registered Dorothy’s motorcycle outside before his fingers felt the cool metal of the doorknob.

 

He walked inside. It looked like no one was there. “Hello?” he called out experimentally.

  
No one. Charlie and Dorothy must have been out somewhere. He sat down on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the floor. He was supposed to meet Dean, but he suddenly realized didn’t feel like it anymore.

 

He couldn’t stand the thick silence in the house. He got up and left. It was starting to get dark and it was supposed to rain. But it wasn’t as though Cas hadn’t been stuck outside at night in the rain before, he remembered bitterly.

 

He jammed his hands in his pockets and just walked. He looked around every corner and over his shoulder every few blocks. He hated feeling so paranoid, but he hated the thought of Lucifer even more.

 

He walked by the diner, but Charlie wasn’t there. He cursed himself. He’d known that.

 

Finally he decided he ought to go home. Dean would’ve figured out by now that he wasn’t just running late.

  
Cas approached the house and his stomach dropped. Dean was sitting on the stoop with his head in his hands. As Cas walked up he looked up hopefully.

  
“Jesus, Cas, where the hell have you been?” Dean asked, standing up. Cas could see he was angry.

 

Cas looked away bitterly, sidestepping Dean to go inside. Dean grabbed his arm and Cas twisted it away.

 

“Hey!” Cas ignored Dean’s demand. “What the hell is with you?”

 

Cas’s anger boiled over. He turned to face Dean, and he could feel the stoniness of his own expression. “When are you leaving?”  
  
Dean stared at him, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tight. Dean opened his mouth to speak and Cas cut him off. “Do not lie to me.”

 

“Two weeks.” Dean’s voice was hard and low.

 

Cas looked at the ground, turning his face away, letting Dean’s words sting. “I was under the impression you would be here for longer than that.”

 

Dean shook his head. “I never said that.”

 

Cas continued staring at the ground. “You let me believe it.”

 

“Cas,” Dean said impatiently. “Where did you hear this, anyway?”  
  
Cas looked at Dean then. “Were you just going to leave without saying a word?”

 

“No, Cas,” Dean shook his head, exasperated. “You know I don’t get to _choose_ , right?” he spat out after Cas stayed silent for several moments.

 

“I know,” Cas said quietly. Dean stepped toward Cas, but he turned away. An arm was hanging, suspended. Cas folded his arms against himself.

 

“I think you should go,” Cas finally said. He could feel Dean staring at him, but he couldn’t stand to meet his eyes. He finally left, and Cas went inside. He deflated, passing out on his bed.

 

Cas sat straight up, the force of his dream knocking the breath out of him. He sat blinking into the darkness of his bedroom, disoriented, a blanket tangled around his legs. He tried to even out his breathing, but it kept hitching around the tightness in his throat. He disentangled himself, a cold draft making him shiver. He felt sick, and he paused for a moment, hyper aware of the reality of inhabiting a body. Sleeping? Nausea? It felt surreal and he wanted it to stop.

 

Cas gingerly got up and ducked out into the hallway. He wanted very badly to stay here, to continue barricading himself in this quiet little room of warmth and home. He felt sick at the tension poisoning the air, the tension he was creating, until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Even as his heart clenched with loneliness, Cas slipped out of the house and into the chilly night air.

 

Cas crossed his arms against the cold and stared into the dusky moonlight. He heard the scuffle of rocks behind him and he turned to see Dean approaching with a furrowed brow. Cas turned back around, his chest feeling suddenly very tight.

 

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Dean murmured, his voice unusually soft.

 

“I could ask you the same question.”

 

“I couldn’t stand to go back.”

 

Dean was silent behind him. Cas glanced over his shoulder to see Dean’s averted gaze staring, his jaw clenched. Cas closed his eyes.

 

“You know I don’t have a choice, Cas.”

 

“I know. You’d have to leave eventually anyway.”

 

“What the hell is it you want me to do?” Dean sounded angry until his voice quivered. Cas deflated; he barely had the energy to stand anymore. He turned to face Dean.

 

Dean’s eyelashes were damp and Cas walked toward him and raised a shaky hand to brush a tear from his cheek. Cas watched Dean swallow hard.

 

“I knew this end was inevitable,” Cas shrugged. Dean watched him carefully. “I just didn’t think….” It was Cas’s turn to avert his gaze. “I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

 

Dean stepped toward him as if to embrace him, but he stopped short, his arms stiff at his sides. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he returned inside instead. “Let’s just….” Cas sighed. “Let’s just go to sleep.” Cas looked down the end of the road. He knew he didn’t have a real choice but he wanted to pretend like he did.

 

Dean waited for him, but Cas said. “You go. I’ll come back in a minute.” He stood outside with his arms folded and looked at the sky until the moon was completely hidden behind thick storm clouds. He wondered if there would be lightning.

 

Eventually he returned to the bedroom to find Dean, not asleep, but sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

 

"I guess we can’t do this anymore, can we?" Dean's voice felt very loud. Cas stopped, his heart in his throat. He didn't answer, choosing instead to watch Dean glare up at him, something like anger simmering behind his eyes.

 

“That’s not what I want.”  
  
“Well then what is it that you want then, Cas?” Dean stood up. “I wish I had the answer. But I don’t.”

 

Cas walked over and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to be done about it.” Dean shook his hand off, walking away. _Stubborn_ , Cas thought angrily.

 

“There’s nothing I can do about this either, Dean. It’s just the way it is right now, and fighting in the time we have left is making it worse.”

 

"I guess it was all for nothing, huh?" Dean tried to pass it off as a joke, but the pain in his voice was apparent.

 

"No, Dean," Cas responded simply, wishing Dean would meet his eyes again.

 

Cas walked toward Dean standing in his sock feet and rumpled shirt, and he lifted his jaw, leveling a guarded gaze at him. "I do not want you to leave," Cas said. "But you will. Because you have to. But," he heaved a big sigh. “I’ll still be here whenever you get back.”

 

Dean blinked and looked away, and Cas felt his anger dissolve into bone-deep tiredness.

Dean's gaze moved slowly up, the anger in his face replaced by a sleepy sadness.

 

“I don’t wanna fight with you, Cas.” Cas raked his eyes over that face that he knew so well, reaching up a hand to rest gently under his jaw. He didn’t know if Dean would ever come back here, or if he’d even want to, but he shoved that feeling to the side, choosing instead to inhabit the space he was in. Dean swallowed hard, closing his eyes, leaning his face into Cas’s palm. Cas stepped closer to Dean, until he could feel the warmth radiating from Dean's skin, resting his other hand on Dean's hip. Dean's eyes opened a fraction, and his hands sliding around to Cas's back, pressed their bodies together.

 

"Dean," Cas said quietly. Dean's eyes finally met Cas's again, and Cas drew himself closer as warning alarms blared in his head, pausing for a tension laden moment before brushing their lips together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean had to go back sometime. He stopped by the room, with just a half an hour to spare before he had to be on duty. Victor looked up from a book when he came in the door.

 

“Good to see you again,” he said, returning his gaze to the book.

 

“Hey,” he said by way of greeting. He wanted to call Sam before he had to go. “You off today?”  


“Yep.”  


“Have fun.” Dean left and Victor waved without looking up.

 

Dean stopped by the phone and dialed the last phone he’d had for Sam. He thought they’d probably moved on by now, but it didn’t hurt to try.

 

The hotel clerk answered the phone. “The Rainbow Hotel, this is Garth, how can I help you?”

 

“Yeah, can I get Winchester, room 106?”

 

“Oh, no man, I’m sorry, they aren’t here anymore.”

 

Dean cursed internally. “Alright, well thanks.”

 

“Yeah, there was a big hullaballoo about it,” the clerk continued. Dean stilled.

 

“What kind of hullaballo?”

 

“Well, I don’t reckon I know for certain.” This guy sounded so chipper Dean was sure that if he were there in person he’d punch his lights out right about now. “But I know there was some police involved and an ambulance.”

 

The tips of Dean’s fingers went cold. He hung up the phone only to pick it right back up. He called Bobby; he’d had his number memorized since his father had made him and Sam recite it. _Only for emergencies_ , he’d said.

 

Bobby picked up. “Hello?”  


“Bobby,” Dean said, relief temporarily washing over him.

 

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, boy.”

 

“What happened?” Dean gripped the telephone cord.

 

Bobby sighed. “Dean.”

 

“Just _tell_ me, Bobby,” Dean ground his teeth together. Fear almost made his voice waver, but he’d deepened it into a growl instead.

 

Bobby sighed again. “John is dead, Dean,” he said quietly. Dean’s knees started feeling dangerously weak. He was gripping the phone cord so tightly that his knuckles were white.

 

“Where’s Sam?”

 

“I haven’t been able to track him down yet.”

 

“What?” Dean had to restrain himself from yelling.  
  
“He’s tied up somewhere with the police. No one wants to tell me anything.”

 

“How did you even find out?”

 

“Sam was on the phone with me when everything started happening.”  
  
“When _what_ started happening?” Dean’s patience was wearing thin.

 

“Well, Sam was working himself up to confront John about you…”

 

Dean leaned his forehead against the phone.

  
“He was asking me for advice,” Bobby continued. “John was drunk. What’s new?”

 

“What else?”

 

“Sam and John were fighting and John stumbled and clocked himself pretty good on the edge of a table, according to Sam. He hung up on me so he could call an ambulance. He didn’t call back until the hospital, and by then the cops were swarmed all around.”

 

“Damn it.” Dean kept his eyes shut tight. His thoughts were racing. He had to get Sam, that was it. “Where is he?”

 

“Last I knew, he was in Attapulgus.”

 

“What?”  


“Georgia, Dean.”

 

“Alright, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”

 

Bobby started to protest but Dean hung up on him. He had to get out of here, and it looked like he was going to have to bargain with the devil to do that. _Damn_ it.

 

He jogged down the hallways to Lucifer’s office and he stopped to compose himself. An alarmed, loud voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that his father was dead, but he couldn’t listen to that, not right now. Maybe not ever.

 

Just as Dean was working up his nerve, Lucifer waltzed out of his office.

 

“Ah! Here he is again,” Lucifer said, unsmiling.

 

“I need to go,” Dean said in a rush.

 

“Excuse me?”  
  
Dean was finding it hard to speak. He wanted to never speak again. “My father just passed away, sir.” He swallowed what felt like a rock blocking his throat. “I have a little brother I have to find and make arrangements for.”

 

Lucifer regarded him for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. “And how would I know if this were true?” His voice was friendly, but icy.

 

“I don’t know, sir. But it is true.” He tried to convey his truth through his eyes, but Lucifer apparently found this proof lacking.

 

“Do you have any family I could call to confirm? A hospital? A doctor?”

 

“I have a friend of the family.”

 

Lucifer stared at him. “A friend of the family.” Dean just nodded. This was really not going very well.

 

“I’ll have to look into it. Your request is denied for the time being.”

 

“But—,” Dean started to protest, but he was silenced with a withering look.

 

“I have reason to suspect you’ve been engaging in unbecoming behavior,” he said, stepping right up to Dean and staring unflinchingly into his eyes. “You’re on thin ice, Winchester,” he said in a low voice. Ice melted down Dean’s spine, and he made no answer.

 

Lucifer stalked away and Dean’s heart pounded, though his legs were frozen in place. Dean guessed it was time for another plan.

 

 

 

 

Cas almost woke up too late to make it to work on time, and his hair was a little less tidy than it probably should have been—but he was dressed and he had socks and shoes on and he was there 2 minutes before he was scheduled to work so, considering the circumstances, it counted as a win. He consciously tried not to think of the empty bed he left behind and forcing himself not to wonder if Dean would ever occupy it again.

 

He hadn’t even been there an hour before he glimpsed Charlie’s red head walking amongst the shelves. She finally found him.

 

“Hey, Cas.”

 

“Hello.”

 

She stuck her hands in her pockets. “How’s it going?”

 

Cas suppressed a sigh. “It could be going better.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Cas shook his head. Charlie squeezed his arm.

 

“I have news,” she said finally, sounding so tentative that it almost sounded like a question. _I have news?_

 

“What is it?”

 

“I found a buyer.”

 

Cas was stunned. Not even at the thought of the concept of time passing so quickly, in flashes, it seemed sometimes; but he’d forgotten that Charlie was selling the house at all.

 

“When are they moving in?”  


“We’ve got a month, pal.”

 

Cas nodded slowly. “You find a place yet?” she raised her eyebrow pointedly.

 

“It’s narrowed down to a couple of choices.”

 

“Good.” Charlie uncrossed her arms, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Guilt gnawed at Cas; he hadn’t meant to make Charlie worry. He probably shouldn’t have lied, but what Charlie didn’t know probably wouldn’t hurt her.

 

“I’ve got a little more news,” Charlie twisted her fingers together and chewed her bottom lip. This worried Cas more than her initial announcement of news.

 

“What?” he asked again.

 

“I’m leaving sooner than that, though.” She scuffed her boot. “I’ve got it all worked out with everyone. It’s only a month because I wanted you to have time…”

 

Cas leaned against a nearby table and nodded at the floor. “When are you leaving?”  
  
“Tonight.” She smiled sadly, watching him closely.

 

“Be safe,” Cas said quietly. He looked up to see Charlie’s eyes brimmed with tears, her fingers still tangled together.

 

“I’m gonna miss you,” she gasped, flinging her arms around his neck, almost knocking him off his perch.

 

He hugged her tightly. “I’ll miss you too.”

 

She let him go, wiping her face. “I’ll write you.”

 

“You’d better,” Cas warned.

 

She laughed, still teary. “Well,” she wiped her hands on her pants. “I’ll see you around, then, huh?”

 

Cas nodded, his stomach a tangle of grief. He felt like he missed her already. Charlie hugged Cas once more.

 

“I love you,” she whispered.

 

“I love you too,” Cas murmured.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean tore off the base as quickly as he could. He didn’t know where Sam was, but he wasn’t about to wait around to find out.

 

He knocked frantically on Cas’s door, breathing hard. No one was answering. They must both be at work. Dean swore. He couldn’t even remember the last time he picked a lock, but now was the time to find out if he still knew how.

 

The lock unlatched and Dean sighed with relief. He stole some of Cas’s clothes and he tore around looking for the keys to the Impala. He guessed it was a good thing he hadn’t left it in storage in Chicago. Small blessings.

 

Dean sprinted down the hallway and was momentarily struck by the emptiness of the space; everything was bare except for Cas’s room. At any other moment he might stop to examine that thought, but the image of Sam pressed insistently in the back of his mind.

 

Dean tore off his uniform, rifling through Cas’s clothes. He heard the door open, and footsteps in the living room. He stopped to listen, straining his ears.

 

He walked out, with some trepidation. “Hello?” he tried.

 

Charlie was sitting on the couch and had just about jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice. “Shit, Dean!” She stared at him, a hand on her chest.

 

“Sorry,” he said, padding out of the shadows of the hallway.

 

“What are you doing here?” She looked at the clock.

 

Dean heaved a huge sigh. “I’ve got a huge fucking problem, Charlie.” He had a gleam of desperation in his eye and a heavy stone of unease settled in Charlie’s stomach as he said the words. She studied his face.

 

“What’s the problem?” She was aware of the dried tears on her face, and her eyes still felt puffy from when she said goodbye to Cas.

 

“I’ve gotta go. Like, gone.” Dean’s forehead glistened with sweat.

 

Charlie looked at him, waiting for an elaboration. “I don’t exactly have authorization for it,” he said finally. _There it is_ , Charlie thought with a twist in her gut.

 

Charlie puffed her cheeks out, blowing out air. “I don’t suppose there’s a way to _get_ it.”

 

Dean pursed his lips and averted his eyes. “I don’t think I can get it.” He crossed his arms. “And I don’t really have the time to find out.”

 

Charlie put her hands on her hips. “I’m coming with you.” Dean started to protest but Charlie held up her hand. “You’re not going to get very far if anyone’s looking for you. And what about your car?”

 

“What _about_ my car?”  

 

“They know you have it?” Charlie challenged.

 

Dean stared at her for a long moment before swearing. “Yeah, I suppose they do. Damn it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s how I got here.”

 

Charlie watched Dean pace. “We can take my car.”

 

“I can’t leave it behind.”

 

Charlie sputtered. “We can figure it out later, Dean!”

 

“I can’t come back to get it, Charlie!”

  
Charlie swallowed and crossed her arms. Cas briefly flashed through her mind. She thought about him alone at the library. She thought for a few seconds, eyes downcast.

  
“We’ll switch the license plates. It’ll be less recognizable if they plates aren’t from the state you are.” Dean nodded, not meeting her gaze. “And I’ll drive,” she continued. “You need to keep your head down, at least until we’re a couple states away.” Charlie paused. “Wait. Where is it we’re going?”

 

Dean’s shoulders tensed. “Georgia.”

 

“Oh.” Charlie was relieved. “That’s actually not too bad.”

 

Dean picked up his bad. “We need to get going. They’re gonna figure out pretty soon that I’m gone, and then it’s a ticking clock.”

 

Charlie stared at Dean for quick second. “It’ll be ok, Dean,” she said before dashing down the hallway. Dean went to the kitchen, dumping food into his bag.

 

Charlie came racing back down the hallway, panting. “Already had a bag packed for later.”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave a thumbs up, heading towards the door. “Wait!” Charlie yelled. “I have to call Dorothy.”

  
Dean leaned against the door and waited. Charlie listened to the phone ring, begging her to answer under breath. Charlie was about to hang up when the phone clicked, someone picking it up.

 

“Hello?” she sounded a little breathless.

 

Charlie sighed in relief. “Thank God! I didn’t think you’d answer.”  
  
“What’s going on?”

 

Charlie closed her eyes. “We’re gonna have to postpone our trip.”

 

Dorothy paused. “Is there a particular reason?”

 

“I have to help Dean with something first.”  
  
“Is everything ok? Come on, Charlie, spill! I feel like I’m interrogating you.”

 

“Listen. I’ll explain everything later but we have to go.” Dorothy started to say something but Charlie cut her off. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t much time.” She glanced over her shoulder at Dean. “I need you to tell Cas that we had to go tell him—” she stopped to steady her voice. “Tell him I’ll call him tonight when we stop. He just has to be here so I can call.”

 

“Ok,” Dorothy said quietly. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”

 

“Ok,” Charlie whispered. “I’ll miss you.”

 

Dorothy laughed warmly. “Yeah, yeah. Love you.”

 

Charlie’s face warmed. “Love you too,” she murmured.

 

Dean cleared his throat behind her. Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

 

She hung up the phone and stood, turning to face Dean. “Let’s go, dude.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas felt as though there was a weight tugging at the back of his neck, compelling him to glance behind him. There was something wrong but he didn’t know what.

 

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t yet even close to time for him to go home yet. He peered into Marv’s office.

 

“I’m not feeling well,” Cas said. “I need to go home.” Marv stared at him over the rim of his glasses.

 

“We need you here, Castiel.” He stared at Cas, eyebrows raised.

 

“I’m afraid I’m really not up to it,” Cas said. He even felt clammy—it wasn’t as though he were even lying. It also wasn’t as though he was staying. He would leave regardless of the consequences.

 

“Who’s going to hold down the fort?” Marv whined. His tone made Cas’s blood boil.

 

“I’m sure that you and Daniel can handle it.” Cas turned to walk away and Marv sputtered.

 

“You always thought you were too good for us, Cas!” He stuck a red face out of the office. Well, the color was conjecture. Cas didn’t turn back to look. He dropped his name tag on the desk on his way out. Marv continued protesting until the soft whoosh of the library doors silenced it. Cas breathed out in relief.

 

Hot billowing air greeted his exit, and Cas shivered at the change. A motorcycle came rumbling up the length of the parking lot. Cas squinted. It was Dorothy. It was strange to see her without Charlie.

 

She slowed at the curb and called to him. Cas took a step toward her, studying her face. “Hop on, Cas.”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me. I’ll explain when we get there.”  
  
“Get where?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. I don’t bite. We’ll go to my house and I’ll explain what’s going on.”

 

“I know that you and Charlie are leaving.” He was a little insulted at the insinuation that he needed a babysitter.

 

“That’s not it,” Dorothy assured him. Cas stared at her for another long moment before climbing on the back of the motorcycle behind Dorothy. He rested his arms loosely around her waist.

 

They raced down the streets to Dorothy’s house and the hot afternoon sun beat mercilessly on Cas’s head, the muggy air nearly suffocating.

 

When they finally got to her house, Dorothy tried to stall their conversation. Cas stared at her expectantly. “Do you want some water?” she tried.

 

“What’s going on, Dorothy?”

 

Dorothy took a breath. “Dean had to go.” She watched him carefully, but Cas remained still. He felt his breaths inflating his lungs, and his skin tingling, but he didn’t feel anything else, his mind as blank as it could have ever been.

 

Dorothy went on, now explaining. “Charlie went too. I didn’t get the full story, but I’m sure I will soon.” Cas turned. He was supposed to have had more time, and the weight of disappointment settled onto his shoulders.

 

Cas walked toward the door, ignoring Dorothy’s protests. She tried to stop him with a hand on his shoulder but it slid off. “Cas,” she demanded. “I really think you should stay here for a while.”

 

Cas continued to ignore her, and she didn’t follow. He walked through the hot air and remembered the balminess of the air the night he’d run away. He walked until he found himself in front of the apartment building he’d looked at that day. He stared at the brick until the lines felt burned into his eyes. He forced himself not to think about what he’d imagined that day, the feeling of sharing a place with Dean, longing for that elusive feeling of security. He wondered what he ought to do.

 

“This isn’t where you belong, Castiel.” Ice trickled down Castiel’s spine. Lucifer’s voice punctured his reverie. Cas turned around slowly.

 

“Not even going to say hello?” Lucifer clasped his hands behind his back. Cas glared at him. That elicited a quiet chuckle. “You’re right. It’s best to skip the pleasantries.”

 

Cas scoffed. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

 

“You always had an eccentric sense of humor,” Lucifer paced. Cas stepped closer to the wall, watching him.

 

“Leave me alone,” Cas growled.

  
Lucifer laughed. “The faster I get what I want, the faster you get to run home,” he taunted.

 

Cas bristled, shoving past Lucifer. “Not so fast, partner.” Lucifer swung his arm around and knocked Cas back against the wall. He was a lot stronger than he looked, Cas thought dimly.

  
He glared at him. “What could you possibly want from me?” Cas spit.

 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Don’t toy with me, Castiel.” He pressed Cas against the wall. It was becoming difficult for Cas to breathe.

 

Lucifer stared at Cas. “Where is he?” His voice was low and threatening.

 

“Who?” Cas wheezed.

 

Lucifer crushed his arm into Cas’s ribs and Cas gasped, struggling to take more than short breaths. “Where is _Dean_?”

 

Cas slammed his skill against Lucifer’s forehead, sparks exploding behind his eyelids. He gasped at Lucifer stumbled back, and Cas took off running, skidding against the loose gravel on the pavement. Cas nearly lost his balance and he scuffed his shoulder on the corner of the brick, tearing his shirt. Cas felt that his vision was less trustworthy than normal, but he rounded the corner and sprinted, breathing hard.

 

He heard Lucifer’s footsteps chasing him and he pressed forward, veering sharply around another corner. He leaped wildly over a fence, crossing someone’s backyard in a matter of steps. He ran through the path on the side of their house to fly down their driveway and across the street. Cas looked quickly over his shoulder. He didn’t see Lucifer; he kept running for a few more blocks. He ducked behind a dark looking dumpster to try to catch his breath.

 

His heart pounded and his thoughts raced. Lucifer must have known Dean from the Navy, but why was he looking for him? Cas’s chest burned and he swallowed desperately, his hands shaking badly from the rush of adrenaline. Cas tried to control his breathing for a few more minutes, stepping out from behind the dumpster when the light lowered, the sky turning a dusky purple.

 

Cas peeked out from the alley, scanning the sidewalks and squinting at the buildings, looking for Lucifer’s terrifyingly smug face. He crept out and tried to blend in among the other people out, but they were sparse and he was trying to keep a lookout too. Cas wondered if he was safe to go home—he didn’t know what Lucifer knew and he needed to call Dorothy to find out where Dean was.

 

When Cas got to his block, he scanned the houses for anything unusual. Finally, he approached the house, circling the perimeter, scrutinizing the premises for signs of danger.

  
When he was sufficiently assured that nothing was amiss, Cas went inside. He went to draw the curtains, but a dark shape moved behind the door Cas had just opened. A heavy weight clocked Cas at the back of his skull, and Cas’s momentum slammed him into the ground and into what seemed like bottomless darkness.

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
It was hours before Charlie let Dean’s head get any higher than the level of the dashboard. Dean had a serious muscle cramp in his neck.

 

“It’s for your own good,” Charlie said for the hundredth time, exasperated. Her small hands were white-knuckled on the wheel of the Impala, but so far they hadn’t run into any problems. The sun was finally descending below the horizon, and he would be relieved if it weren’t for the fact that it would be a very long night.

 

“Hey, let me drive for a while.” Charlie’s eyes looked a little hollow and Dean didn’t want them to end up in the ditch.

 

She looked over at him, evidently sizing up the danger. She sighed. “All right. But you better watch out for cops.”

 

“There won’t be cops, Charlie. I’m not technically AWOL yet.”

 

She grumbled and pulled over. Dean moved into the driver’s seat and Charlie nestled against the door to nap. Dean watched the land slip by, trying to concentrate on the lines of the road, watching the ditch for animals and police. It was a cloudy night, and there wasn’t much light offered by way of the moon. They didn’t even pass any other cars; it was almost as though they were the only living things moving through an ocean of darkness. Dean tried not to think about Cas. He especially tried not to think of the last time he’d seen him, but it crept into his thoughts anyway.

 

He needed to concentrate on how he was going to find and get Sam back; everything else could wait until after. He kept driving on into the darkness, the Impala’s headlights only doing so much to illuminate the road racing under the wheels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pain is both concrete and inexplicable and necessarily difficult to quantify. Cas couldn’t tell if the darkness was more or less painful than the feeling of powerlessness, or if the alternating sharp and dull pain in his skull was the worst.

 

Cas was finding his mind foggy. He wasn’t sure if he was awake—or maybe he’d been awake the whole time. It was hard to tell without the light. Dean kept drifting through his mind, his voice echoing in the empty chamber in his head. He’d feel a jab of fear or anxiety and he would feel like he was running only to find that he didn’t seem to exist.

 

He kept hearing voices that he remembered hearing on television, but he strangely couldn’t tell if they were speaking to him.

 

Someone kept asking, “Where is he?” Cas didn’t know the answer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The world tilted beneath Cas’s back, and he struggled to stay upright. He felt the rising ocean water creeping up his chest and past his neck and it was so cold, but he wasn’t moving at all, he discovered, he was in the air.

 

A heavy hand rested on his arm, and he heard sounds but didn’t know what the sounds could mean. It sounded like debt and emptiness. Wasn’t he already paying? It wasn’t a price he had anticipating, but even if he’d had the capacity to relieve it, he wasn’t sure he even knew what that meant yet.

 

Cas descended back into darkness and non-being, his head swelling and encompassing the world, blanketing the sky in an airless void.

 

Questions lingered, even in nothingness. Like a television, Cas would see sweeping fields of grass or mountains or long stretches of road and sometimes Charlie was laughing amongst swirling orange leaves. Sometimes he was in a scheduled program of people that weren’t real and they were somehow his family. Sometimes Dean was laughing in the sunny lane outside of the house. He saw Dean’s upturned face looking at the night sky—that one seemed like a memory and Cas clung to its materiality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lucifer came in the room. Cas didn’t see him but he knew he was there, and he went rigid with fear. Through his haze, Cas wondered desperately if he would ever leave him alone.

 

Lucifer curled his fingers in Cas’s crusty, bloody shirt, lifting him up from the floor. Cas let his head hang loosely. He murmured something in Cas’s ear and unease crept into Cas’s stomach. He struggled to lift his head. A television program buzzed and Cas imagined the figures moving behind the glass.  


“This is your last chance, Castiel,” Lucifer whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean’s eyes itched. They were so close. Charlie was still asleep. He leaned over to nudge her. “Hey,” he said, shaking her shoulder, keeping one eye on the road.

 

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What’s our status report?” Her voice was a little scratchy, but she seemed alert enough.

 

“We’re just going into town limits. We just have to find Sam and get him out without anyone noticing until we’re already gone.” Dean winced. It wouldn’t be pretty.

 

“Do we have a plan?”

 

Dean clenched his jaw. “Guess that’s a no,” Charlie said, looking out the window. “What time is it?” She asked.

 

“About three.” Charlie groaned. “Jesus, Dean. How fast were you driving?”

 

Dean ignored her. “Bobby said they’re holding him at the police station,” Dean said. “They know he and the old man got into a fight, and they don’t have any better explanations.”

 

Charlie nodded. “Great. Breaking someone out of a police station. A walk in the park.”

 

“I’ve got an idea,” Dean said. “It’s worked before, but it’s also backfired before.” Charlie rolled her eyes.

 

Dean drove carefully down the street, looking for the police station. This was a tiny town, so it couldn’t be that hard to find. Once Dean had spotted it, he pulled into the gas station across the street. It was closed, but it had a payphone.

 

Dean dug in his pocket for change. “Think of a crime.”

 

“What?”

 

“Think of something bad that would require everyone they have on duty.”

 

Charlie was quiet. Dean handed her some coins. “Go to that payphone and call 911 and tell them something that would get all the cops, or at least most of them, out of the station.”  


Charlie’s face was white. She stepped out of the car and up to the phone. Dean watched her dial. After a few moments she got back in the car.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“I told them I saw a big truck wreck on the highway south of town.”

 

“I hope that’s enough,” Dean said, turning his gaze to the doors of the station. A handful of officers streamed through the doors, getting into cars and racing the opposite way they would need to go. “Good thinking,” Dean whispered.

 

“Thanks,” Charlie grinned. Law-breaking suited her, Dean thought.

 

As soon as the cars were out of sight, Dean swung his door open. He crossed the street, looking carefully at the shadows and the surrounding buildings. Charlie followed him. They crouched next to the building.

 

“We should check the windows so we can tell where Sam is, and if there’s any cops left in there.” Charlie nodded. They made their way quietly towards the back of the building. There were a few high, barred windows. Dean laced his fingers together to give Charlie a boost.

 

“He’s not in there!” Charlie whispered, panicked.

 

“How do you know? You don’t know what he looks like.” Charlie’s leg smashed against the side of his face.

 

“There’s no one in this cell!”

 

“Well we have to check the others!”

 

Dean boosted Charlie at the second window, nearly toppling them both when there came a crashing sound at the front of the building. Charlie jumped lightly down and she and Dean both crouched in the tall grass, watching.  


Sam sprinted out into the middle of the street looking around wildly. Dean got up and sprinted towards him.  
  
“Sam!” he whispered as loudly as he could.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Charlie squeaked behind him.

 

Sam turned to look and when he saw Dean his face was awash with relief. “Dean!”

 

“Shhh!” Dean put his finger to his lips. He grabbed Sam by the shoulder and steered him to the Impala. Charlie ran nearly tip-toed to the car, yanking the door open and flinging herself inside. Her face was white again. Sam jumped into the backseat and Dean turned on the engine, tearing out of the parking lot and pointing them north on the highway.

 

  


  
“Castiel.” Lucifer’s breath was in Cas’s ear and it made him nauseous. He wanted to squirm away but he didn’t know where his body was.

 

He thought he felt Lucifer’s cold fingers around his neck, but Cas pushed it away.

 

“No one cares about you,” Lucifer spat, his voice dim and wrong, somehow. Cas couldn’t think. His cruelty made it impossible to exist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He felt that he was falling, again. He kept falling backwards through the darkness. Cas tried desperately to turn his head, trying to look through the dark to see where he was falling. His back hit the hard ground, choking him. He hit over and over, never able to suck in a breath, his lungs sucked empty. A panic buzzed in the back of his mind, making his pulse race. The television was quiet, throwing up strange colors and shapes against his vision. Cas shivered, finally still. He could almost feel the tips of his fingers; he was almost aware of the air in existence around his skin.

 

Cas shivered again. He thought he could feel his mouth, and he tried to open it. “Where is he?” he wanted to ask. He didn’t know if he was asking for himself. Betrayal knifed through him when he failed and darkness clouded again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Alright, well…what do we do now?” Sam asked.

 

They were parked behind a copse of trees in a field. It was still dark, but hints of sunlight were starting to appear in the east. Dean sighed. He was tired.

 

“I need to call Dorothy,” Charlie said. “Give her an update of the situation, get news on how Cas reacted to the news.” She glanced sideways at Sam, and then quickly away.

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding slowly. “We’ll do that first.”

 

“Who’s Cas?” Sam asked.

 

“I should probably drive,” Charlie said. “You’re both on the shit list from the cops.” Sam and Dean looked at each other.

 

Dean ended up on the back seat and Sam in the floor. They’d fought over it but Dean pulled seniority, and reminded Sam that he was the one responsible rescuing him from a possible life sentence in prison for the alleged murder of their father.

 

Charlie chewed on her bottom lip the whole way to the next town.

 

“Is this really necessary?” Sam asked about 30 miles farther, squirming in the floorboards.

 

“Yes,” Charlie snapped. “No one is looking for a red-haired woman driving down the highway by herself.”

 

Sam looked at Dean, bugging his eyes out. Dean ignored him.

 

Luckily, it wasn’t far—they’d made pretty good time overnight, Dean really getting the lead out. Dean didn’t know how he was going to deal with the consequences of leaving once he had gotten back to Newport—or what he was going to do with Sam. He couldn’t exactly enroll him in school. Dean pushed that away.

 

Charlie stopped at a lonely looking gas station, jaunting over to the payphone.

 

“But seriously Dean,” Sam started once Charlie was out of sight. “What’s gonna happen now?”  
  
“I don’t know, Sam.” He sighed. “You’re gonna be in big trouble if you show up on the radar, so I gotta keep you hidden.”  


“What about you? Charlie said something about you being AWOL now. What’s gonna happen to you?”

 

Dean gave a half-shrug as well as he could with one arm pinned against the leather seat. “I don’t know, Sammy. I asked for leave and didn’t get it, and I left anyway. And it’s gonna look real suspicious that I went to help my kid brother and now my wanted kid brother is missing from the Attapulgus.” He sighed again.

 

“Have you talked to Bobby?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean snorted. “How do you think I heard about the trouble you got your dumbass in?”  


“Maybe he could help us out,” Sam said. “You could just…not go back, Dean. We could hide out with Bobby until we figured out what to do next.”

 

“I gotta take Charlie back, Sam.”

 

“Well yeah,” Sam said impatiently. “But I mean after that.” Dean didn’t respond.

Charlie yanked the driver’s door open and flung herself inside, breathing hard. “We’ve got a huge problem, guys.”

 

Dean almost sat up, but Sam yanked his arm down. “Stay down, Dean!” he hissed.

Charlie gripped the steering wheel, and closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.

 

“What’s going on, Charlie?”  


“Cas is in the hospital,” she said, breathless. “Dorothy told him about you leaving and Cas was upset and left,” her voice wavered. “And now she couldn’t find him, and so she went out to look but something really, really bad must have happened.” Her voice was starting to sound unsteady.

 

Dean went very still. “Let’s go,” he said.

 

Charlie bit her lip. She sped out of the parking lot and back onto the highway.

 

“Where is he?” Dean asked.

 

Charlie shook her head. “He’s in Boston.”

 

Dean forced himself to breathe evenly. “Anyone there with him? What’s his status?”

 

Charlie pursed her lips, her face white. “Dorothy is there. He’s still unconscious. He got knocked around a bit from what it sounds like.” Dean took a cue from Charlie’s sheet white face and decided that that was a massive understatement.

 

Dean’s hands shook as he ran his fingers through his hair, as fear threatened to overtake him. “We have to get back. I have to get him.”  
  
“Who is Cas?” Sam asked again, this time quieter, more hesitant. Charlie glanced over her shoulder at Dean laying on the backseat and Dean stared at the back of the leather seat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Phantoms of Lucifer had left Castiel for what felt like too long of a time to be true. Cas thought he must be nearing death to be granted such peace.

 

It was still hard to think, and he wasn’t sure he was real, but he could feel an insistent smashing in his head, so he was confident that he still at least had that. He stared into the darkness, looking for the outlines of his arms or the door. He would work himself to reach up and touch the back of his head, until he thought he had touched the caved off back of his head, only to find that he still couldn’t feel his limbs or even open his eyes.

 

He wanted to crawl to the door, his arms stretched out, to feel a solid floor beneath him, his fingers eventually touching a wall. He wanted to run his fingers along the edges of a door, finding the door handle and he wanted to be able to open it to let in some light so he could finally see. He dimly wondered how long it would take. He was remarkably tired and it seemed like it was becoming too difficult to exist, if indeed that’s what he was doing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was starting to get dark again by the time they were getting anywhere near Boston, and every mile they traveled Dean’s headache got worse.

 

In sight of the city skyline, Charlie sighed in relief. “Not too much longer now, boys.” Sam and Dean were cramped once again below the windows. Charlie had not been persuaded by Dean’s disgruntled commentary.

 

Dean watched the city creep by, not at all paying attention to the people or the buildings or the way shadows slanted along the streets from the tall lights.

 

Dean didn’t know how Charlie knew where to go or even what hospital Cas was in, and he didn’t care to ask, but he found himself walking down a hallway, his ears deaf to the sounds outside of his own footsteps. The fluorescent lighting made everything surreal, disconnecting him from a physical reality in which Cas was unconscious in one of these horribly anonymous rooms.

 

Dean talked to a nurse at a desk, not remembering the words he’d said. Charlie’s face swam before him, her eyes red around the rim.

 

“You need to be careful,” she said. “You’re officially AWOL.”

 

“We’ll worry about that later,” Dean said. Sam’s presence at Dean’s elbow made him acutely aware of their narrowing window of time. He pushed the thought away.

 

Charlie just looked away. Dean turned in the direction of the room in which Cas was mean to be inhabiting—it was hard to imagine Cas in a place like this, and Dean’s eyes were heavy enough to make it seem even more difficult to discern the contents of this reality.

 

When Dean saw Cas, everything came into sharp focus. The room stood still until Charlie stepped gingerly to look down on him, resting a hand on his arm. Dean looked at the bruises flowering under his skin, a scrape slashed across his eyebrow. Dean didn’t know how to help but his fingers tingled with the desire to do something. He stepped closer to see Cas’s jaw was roughened and unshaven, the circles under his eyes purple against the sallow tinge of his skin. The ceiling dropped lower and the walls closed in and Dean’s lungs couldn’t hold air. He stepped backwards, tearing his eyes from the bed and retreating to the hallway where he slumped in a chair to cradle his head in his hands. He dimly wondered what the hell he was going to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas was becoming aware of time, somehow.

 

He hadn’t realized how slowly time moved, most of the time. The slow ticking of seconds stacking on each other into minutes and hours drove him insane. They piled into eternity, until he could find himself at the correct moment. Whenever he tried, he couldn’t gain a foothold. He almost wished for the complete oblivion of darkness again.

 

He wanted to pray. He wanted to whisper into his hands, he wanted to beg for another chance. He thought about praying to his father, every word he mustered turning to ashes in his mouth. Lies slithered from his lips—a promise to be a good son, to just let him come home. The cold anger of his father’s face landed blow after blow against his rib cage, forming tiny cracks and crushing his lungs. The horror on his mother’s face was the blood spreading beneath his skin, and the house, the purity of his childhood home, was soiled by the indiscretion of his sin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean walked outside. He ran his fingers through his hair for the thousandth time. He was lucky he hadn’t lost the contents of his stomach when he was in there, with the smell of the hospital suffocating him.

 

Dean heard Sam’s faint footsteps trailing him. “Dean?”

 

He swallowed hard, but couldn’t find the heart to turn around. Sam crept up behind him. “He’ll be ok.” Sam sounded uncertain.

 

“I wish I knew how to help him,” Dean admitted. At any other moment in his life, he never would have been able to utter those words—somehow, he was tired enough and disarmed enough to let it slip through the cracks.

 

 

 

 

 

Dean sat by Cas’s side, alternating between watching Charlie doze in the chair across the room and stalking out to the Impala to cramp uncomfortably in the back seat for a nap. Every night when they got kicked out after visiting hours, Charlie and Sam dragged Dean back to the dank hotel room where they holed up until morning.

 

Dean laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of Charlie and Sam’s breathing. He willed himself to go to sleep, but he felt fear crawling at the edges of his mind. There was something about the pitch dark of the room that made it impossible to drift off to sleep, something that didn’t hinder him even with sun streaming across his face on the clingy leather of the Impala seat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dorothy missed Charlie at the same moment she knew she would never admit it out loud. She stretched her neck, and took a deep breath. It would all be over soon enough.

 

Dorothy walked down the sidewalk, observing the yards for people. Despite the warm evening, there weren’t many people about. Dorothy frowned.

 

She spotted Charlie’s neighbor in her yard, watering some flowers. Dorothy slowed, raising an eyebrow at her until she was noticed. The woman looked over her shoulder, dropping the still running hose into the grass. “Can I help you?” her voice was icy. Dorothy supposed she had seen her at the house a few times, visiting Charlie. She wondered if this was the very same neighbor Charlie had complained about. It felt like dream in purple light of the sun descending beneath the horizon. She guessed the woman had had her own resentments to hang onto.

 

“Can I ask you a couple of questions?” Dorothy asked. “It won’t take long,” she assured her, evaluating the woman’s glare.

 

The woman sighed and put her hand on her hip. “Go ahead.”

 

“You know these people that live over in this house?” He tilted his head towards Charlie’s. She nodded, glaring. “When’s the last time you saw the man that lives there? Cas,” she clarified.

 

“Saw him a couple nights ago. Acting real cagey,” she sniffed.

 

“Cagey how?” Dorothy asked.

 

“Just not acting himself. Looking over his shoulder like he was doing something he ought not be doing.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“I saw a blonde man walking around once or twice,” She nodded towards Charlie’s house. “When I was out here watering my flowers. A couple times in the morning. Never seen him before. Didn’t know his business though, and I didn’t ask.”

 

“Did he say anything to you?” She shook her head. “Have you heard or seen anything unusual over the last couple of weeks?”

 

She shook her head. “Nothing too unusual. Haven’t seen that red-head around much in a while.”

 

“Thank you,” Dorothy ducked her head. She thought about going inside, but she knew it would just make her sad. Besides, if Charlie called, she would call Dorothy’s phone first.

 

 

 

 

 

Sam sat down heavily beside Dean on the side of the motel bed. Charlie was in the shower.

 

“I want to ask you some questions.” He was doing that thing where he stared hard and persistently at Dean while Dean tried to avoid his gaze.

 

“What?” Dean said in irritation.

 

“Tell me what happened with Dad.”

 

Dean huffed. “I already told you.”  
  
“Was it Cas?” Sam sounded almost a little angry.

 

“No,” Dean said.

 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice carried a warning.

 

“I said _no_ ,” Dean said. “It wasn’t Cas.”

 

Sam was silent for a few moments until he said, a lot quieter, “Are you sure about this, Dean?”

 

Dean met Sam’s eyes. “More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.” The look in Sam’s eyes was too much to bear and Dean darted his glance away. Sam opened his mouth to say something else, but the shower turned off. Dean cleared his throat and went to stand at the window, waiting. He stared at the wispy clouds drifting across the rainy sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas was starting to see light through the cracks in his eyelids. He felt so brittle though that he wasn’t sure that he could open his eyes without flying apart at the seams. Sometimes he even heard voices and he wanted to reach out.

 

His mind was surfacing from a dark surface and Cas wanted to extend his limbs and move through the world. He wanted to rise up into the air and free himself. And, every once in a while, someone would touch him for some purpose or another, but there were some touches on his skin brought him closer to the light than others.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had been a couple of days and Dean was crawling out of his skin with wanting. He wanted to be able to simply carry Cas from the wretched hospital and enclose him carefully in the backseat of the Impala and drive away and never look back. Every hour he sat and stared at Cas, willing him to open his eyes, he became more and more tense. He jiggled his leg. He picked at his cuticles, the skin shredding, dry blood settling beside his nails.

 

Charlie sighed and rose unsteadily to her feet. “Anyone care to accompany me to the cafeteria?” She glanced at Dean. He didn’t answer.

 

Sam got up. “I could use a bite,” he said.

 

As Charlie and Sam’s steps receded, Dean tried to drown out the sounds in the hallway. He clasped his hands in front of his face, leaning heavily on his knees so that his elbows dug deep into his thighs. “Cas,” he whispered against his knuckles.

 

He stood and walked toward the bed. Cas looked a little better that afternoon. He looked less pale than the day before. Dean had already buried the worm of anxiety that told him that Cas had looked like a corpse the day they had arrived.

 

Dean looked at his unshaven cheek, again. He reached up a hand, tracing a finger lightly across the stubble. A lump formed in his throat. He wanted Cas to look at him so badly. He missed him—even standing in the same room, waiting for him to wake up, he missed him as though he were on a different planet.

 

He moved his hands carefully up to stroke his fingers across Cas’s forehead, pushing a few stray hairs back, combing them gingerly into place. Dean’s heart leapt into his throat when he thought he saw Cas’s eyelids flutter.

 

“Cas?” Dean choked out. His throat was so tight barely any sound came out.

 

He leaned closer, Cas’s scent calming him, even through the hospital smells masking the memory.

 

“Cas,” he croaked again, his voice a little clearer this time. “If you can hear, I need you to come back to me.” Tears brimmed his eyes and Dean cursed himself. He buried his face in Cas’s neck, hiding his face from the world. Cas’s hospital gown soaked up his tears. “I’m sorry,” Dean whispered against the fabric.

 

Cas shuffled the tiniest amount and Dean jerked his head back, searching Cas’s face for any movement. Cas’s eyes cracked open and Dean could have dissolved into the floor. Dean gripped the fabric at Cas’s shoulder and stared at him, memorizing lines of his face, the color of his eyes.

 

 

 

Cas was told multiple times that he was very lucky to have not sustained worse injuries. He just knew that he was lucky to be leaving with Dean.

 

Dean, who kept staring at him, watching him. Charlie and the circles under her red-rimmed eyes. He still didn’t quite know what to think of Sam, hanging back watchfully.

 

When they were finally getting ready to leave, Dean helped him climb into the front seat of the Impala. It may have been all of the kind words about the vehicle that Dean had expressed over the time he’d known him, but he instantly felt a little better upon resting against the seat.

 

Sam and Dean leaned against the trunk and spoke in low voices while Charlie ducked her head in through the passenger window. “I guess this is the real goodbye,” she said, a sad smile on her face.

 

“But not the final one,” Cas replied.

 

“No,” Charlie agreed. “Not the final one.”

 

Dean came back around and climbed into the driver’s seat. “You all set?” Dean asked.

 

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said, resting his head against the seat.

 

Sam left with Charlie, but Cas didn’t quite notice until they were passing open fields.

 

“Where’s Sam?”  
  
Dean glanced over. “He’s hitching a ride with Charlie. She’s gonna drop him with Bobby.” He clenched his jaw. “I wanted him to come with me, but,” Dean stopped. “He wanted to go with him for now. He said something about needing time to think.” Dean grimaced.

 

“A lot has happened,” Cas discerned.

 

“Understatement.”

 

Cas fell asleep after that and he woke up to the sound of rain against the metal body of the car. He stared out the window at the rain beating against the window and the landscape blurring by outside.

 

“What are we going to do?” he asked aloud, resolutely staring at the water lashing against the glass. He tried to squint to see through the water, but everything was just a fuzzy blur of gray.

 

Cas felt Dean’s fingers lace through his, a weighty pause heightening the tension in the air. He let his fingers go numb, his wrist tingling in the lengthening silence.

 

“I don’t know, man,” Dean said finally.

 

Cas closed his eyes again. He still got very tired. He wondered if that would ever cease.

 

 

 

 

 

They finally reached a motel for the night. They had a room with two beds but Dean curled himself around Cas and Cas leaned back into him and Cas dropped into darkness almost instantly.

 

He opened his eyes groggily in a darkly shadowed motel room. Sweat beaded on his forehead, squirming in the too-humid stickiness of an old room. The bed was too light—Cas turned his head to see Dean standing by the window, staring out at the still-beating rain. Cas swallowed his bad feelings and got up and padded over to stand behind him. Dean turned his head to glance sideways at Cas. “If it gets much worse we won’t be able to keep driving much longer.” Cas rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder. He felt hollow and carved out.

 

“It’ll be ok, Dean.” His promise sounded false, even to him. Dean just sighed. Cas trailed his hand down Dean’s arm, moving closer to rest his face on his shoulder, closing his eyes and smelling the scent of his hotel-soap washed skin. “Do you think we’ll ever find out exactly what happened that night?” Cas didn’t need to say which night. Neither of them wanted to remember too specifically the scrape against death Cas had endured.

 

“I’d kill him if I had the chance,” Dean whispered.

 

“Stop.” Cas pushed his eyes shut. Dean laced his fingers on top of Cas’s and Cas pressed himself against Dean’s back, even against the advice of his aching ribs, just wanting to listen to Dean’s breathing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They moved on, travelling quickly over great swaths of land, stopping at night for a time to sleep, only to get back on the road again. Dean tried to avoid routes that were busy, saying something about the authorities that Cas chose not to question.

 

Cas tossed and turned and his arms were pinned to his sides, and he was so hot. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was asleep and although he knew he was asleep, he couldn’t seem to force his eyes open. He was being rocked ceaselessly on a ship weathering a storm, and his sweat turned to raindrops violently thrashing his skin, and there was nowhere to go to get out of it, the lightning and thunder pressing in on his eardrums until he thought his skull would burst.

 

He was dumped into the sea and he couldn’t breathe, and tentacles gripped his limbs and dragged him deeper into the dark.

 

He tried to thrash, to forcibly free his limbs, and Lucifer’s face flashed in his mind.

 

Cas crashed to the floor and his eyes mercifully shot open and he scrambled out of the sheets, his breathing frantic and his entire body aching. He swallowed hard and brushed off imaginary gravel from his sleeve. He was trembling, but he heaved himself up onto the bed, leaving the sheet on the floor. Dean was curled under the blanket, curled away from him. Cas scooted close to him, resting his forehead against the back of Dean’s neck. He was tired, but he was more tired of these specters trailing his heels. He closed his eyes against them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cas rolled over and watched Dean breathing gently, weak morning sunlight falling over his face. His eyes traced over eyelashes bright in the sunlight, his hair tufty in places and flat in others from the pillow and from Cas’ hands, alternately. Cas resisted the urge to drag his fingers over Dean’s lips, instead tucking his hands under his chest and watching Dean sleep.

 

He wasn’t sure when the images of Dean changed from early morning observation to dreams; Dean’s eyes sparkling under the stars, his smile glinting in the afternoon sun, but when he awoke once again, the sheets next to him were abandoned and stared at the wall and listened to the sound of the shower.

 

Cas rustled around in the sheets, trying to soak up as much of the bed’s heat as he could. He didn’t want to leave this hotel room; it was as though they were suspended in time here, and there was no one on the outside world, no one that mattered, anyway. They were safe here, and Cas was willing to listen to Dean showering and breathing as long as he could go on pretending that the pressures of the outside didn’t exist. Cas’s gut twisted at the thought of leaving, traveling right into the face of the unknown.

 

The shower stopped and Cas felt a heavy mournful weight settle into his stomach. They’d have to keep going. They’d have to leave the room and face whatever was waiting for them out there. Cas closed his eyes for a few seconds before heaving himself out of bed.

 

 

 

 

 

Cas laid his head back on the warm seat, his skin feeling sticky, hair whipping around violently, courtesy of the Impala’s open windows. He closed his eyes and cursed the beams of sunlight heating the fabric of his jeans.

 

“Hey, don’t you fall asleep,” Dean warned. “You’ll just turn into an asshole.” Cas slowly lifted his head and turned to glare at Dean. “Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true,” he continued, even though he never turned his gaze from the road. Cas chose to ignore this in favor of resting his head against the seat once again.

 

“Hey,” Dean warned, but his voice slipped away as Cas slipped into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A motorcycle crowded Dean’s bumper, engine louder and downright obnoxious compared to that of the Impala. He glared in his rearview mirror and waited for him to finally pass him. He glanced over at Cas, at his head lolled against the seat, his jaw slack and sweaty, ruffled blown hair. He wondered how many days they would be able to keep going. He wondered when he would ever see Sam again. His stomach turned at the thought of getting caught on the wrong side of the border, getting hauled off, Cas standing on the side of the road.

 

The roar of the motorcycle impatiently passing him broke Dean from his reverie. He glared until they were past. Cas stirred, evidently disturbed by the violent sound of the engine. Dean moved his gaze back to the road, but he felt Cas watching him, head still rested against what was surely uncomfortably warm leather.

 

“It’s hot, Dean.”

 

Dean repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s hot, Cas.” Cas sighed.

 

“How much longer?”

 

Dean grimaced. “I was hoping to be able to stop by around 11 tonight,” Dean glanced at the clock. “But we’re not making very good time. At least, not as good as I wanted.” Cas didn’t respond.

 

Dean ground his teeth. “Don’t be mad at me. This shit ain’t my fault.” He glared at the motorcycle again for good measure.

 

Cas still didn’t respond. Dean shook his head and turned his head to look at the dull landscape whipping by, repressing the urge to scoff, or laugh, or mock Cas’s silence. It _was_ too hot; and he was too tired for this.

 

Dean made a sharp turn off at the next dirt road he saw, pulling under the shade of a big tree and shutting off the car.

 

Cas looked at him. “Is this a scheduled stop?”

 

Dean clenched his fists, shooting a glare in Cas’s direction. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He opened his eyes and turned to Cas. He was slumped in the seat, shadows etching lines on his face. He looked so tired, and Dean almost wanted to collapse.

 

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. “Is there a reason you’re snapping at me?” Cas swallowed hard and Dean could see him blinking even as he turned his head to look out the window. Dean pressed his thumb into Cas’s forearm, kneading the muscle and letting the silence calm them both.

 

They stayed like that for several minutes, Cas sitting still and staring at a fixed point and Dean trying to comfort him in the only ways he knew how. It didn’t feel like enough.

 

Cas finally took a breath and said, “I’m tired.”

 

“I know,” Dean murmured.

  
“I thought I’d die there. In that town.” Cas swiveled his head to look at Dean and the flatness of Cas’s aspect made his insides shrivel in panic. He never wanted Cas to feel that way ever again, and the fact that he already had was making Dean’s stomach hurt.

 

“I felt like a tide was pulling me under and I couldn’t escape but then as soon as I realized there was no escape, it felt like it was the right thing. Like it was meant to be.”

 

Dean watched Cas, feeling for the first time just how close it had been. He’d truly almost never gotten Cas back. “Why?” Dean asked quietly.

 

“I’ve never been quite right.” Cas’s voice wavered for the first time, and Dean reached his hand up and brushed his finger’s along Cas’s jaw.

 

“Don’t,” Dean said softly, gently kissing him. Cas’s fingers pressed hard into Dean’s arm.

 

Cas turned his face away. “You don’t deserve this.”

 

“What, like you do?” Dean countered. Cas didn’t answer. “You think I’m some kind of role model? I’m not good, Cas.” He loved the sandpapery feel of Cas’s cheek under his fingers. “I’m the one who abandoned my country,” Dean joked.

 

“You’ve been abandoned too,” Cas said seriously. Dean scoffed and looked away.

 

Cas lowered his eyes. “What about us?”

 

Dean glanced up sharply. “What _about_ us?”

 

Cas gave a half-hearted shrug. “Well….what happens now?”

 

“Well,” Dean shifted in his seat. “I can’t stick around and dodge the law my entire life.” He met Cas’s eyes. “I thought about Mexico. Sandy beaches, cheap beer…” Dean trailed off, swallowing hard. Cas nodded, staring at his knee. Dean’s heart stuttered when he didn’t say anything. “You don’t have to come with, or anything,” Dean stammered, trying to backpedal and failing spectacularly. “That’s just, you know. What I was thinking.”

 

Cas looked at him. “If you’ll have me, I want to come.” Dean leaned forward, brushing the hair off of Cas’s forehead and kissing him slowly, his heart unclenching.

 

Dusk was starting to fall, and Cas leaned against Dean’s chest in the darkening purple light.

 

“You are good,” Cas said. “You’re a good man, Dean.” Cas smiled gently. “I need to you realize that.”

 

Dean couldn’t say anything so he simply dropped a gentle kiss on the top of Cas’s head. As he drifted off to sleep, he was vaguely aware of Cas’s arm draped over his shoulder. In the small space of the cabin of the car, with the stillness of the world around them, and Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas, the earth came to a standstill.

 


End file.
